


An Affair to Remember

by charlottesweb



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 43,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottesweb/pseuds/charlottesweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a johnlock story based on the movie An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, John and Sherlock are engaged to other people when they both meet on a world cruise. They fall in love and agree to meet at the Empire State Building in New York City in a year, but something goes terribly wrong and they don't meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All over the world the social media networks were jammed with news feeds that read something like this, “Sherlock Holmes to marry rich American Heiress Nina Summers, Nina has finally found her romantic destiny with the detective Sherlock Holmes, she is worth 900 million. Well, it doesn’t take the world’s greatest detective to figure out that 900 Million is a lot of cheddar in any language.”

Nina wanted Sherlock to see the world before they were married, so she sent him on a world cruise. Sherlock walked on the deck of the ship, smoking a cigarette, he was bored and only agreed to go on this stupid cruise because Nina wished it. Sherlock was so preoccupied that he barely noticed when his cigarette case clattered to the wooden floor.

John Watson was getting married to a barrister that had dated him for years, she had groomed him, educated him in the arts and finer things of life, and so now John supposed that it was time to get married. Sharon was a wonderful person, so why didn’t he feel more excited? When Sharon offered to send him on a cruise, John jumped at the idea. All these thoughts fled his mind as he bent down and picked up the gold plated cigarette case and started to hand it to the tall green-eyed man that stood in front of him.

Sherlock reached out his hand to take the case and then John snatched it back. “Hey, how do I know this case is yours?” John asked skeptically.

Sherlock smiled, “There is an inscription inside.”

John opened the case and whistled, “I know just enough French to be embarrassed, this is frightfully intimate. It says something like,”Thank you for the four nights aboard the Gabriella.”

Sherlock sighed and looked bored, “The Gabriella is the name of a yacht.”

John smiled and handed the case over,”Hey, aren’t you Sherlock Holmes? Why I’ve seen you on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and every social media site on the planet.”

Sherlock smiled,”I was just beginning to think attractive people didn’t travel anymore and then here you are.”

John looked confused for a moment and Sherlock felt a flush creep up on his cheeks, as he asked. ”You have me at a disadvantage what is your name?”

John still felt flustered, but he answered calmly, “John…Doctor John Watson.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows went up in surprise,” A Doctor? Well, that’s a comfort, in case I get sick or anything.” Sherlock said as his voice awkwardly trailed off. “Well, Doctor Watson, are you traveling alone?”

John still felt a little overwhelmed but answered. “My fiancée thought a trip would be good for me,” John said as he walked over to the rail of the ship and glanced into the dark crashing waves of the ocean.

Sherlock joined him at the rail and asked, “So, what is your story, Doctor Watson? Wait let me tell you.” Sherlock said as he walked around John. “You recently got out of service in the Middle East, you went to school in London, your childhood was a sad one and you have one sibling. You’ve never been married before and you don’t have any children.”

“Good God, how did you do that? It was fantastic.” John exclaimed.

Sherlock stood closer to John and was about to answer, when a ship’s photographer with an iPhone took a picture of them both. “Oh no, I can’t be seen with you. I mean you’re famous and my fiancée would never understand.” John said frantically.

Sherlock winked at John, grabbed the iPhone out of the man’s hand and threw it overboard. “Hey,” the man exclaimed.

Sherlock sighed and looked over at the man, “Bill me,” he said in his most imperious voice, as he and John walked off.

“Look, it’s no use our being seen together,” John said as he backed away from Sherlock. “My fiancée wouldn’t like it.”

Sherlock nodded, “Nina wouldn’t like it either. So, I guess that’s it,” he said, as he and John parted.

John felt cold and lonely and so he went into the bar to have a drink. As John sat down at the bar, he ordered a Scotch and Soda and was surprised when the bartender put a Scotch and Soda in front of him and then sat another identical drink next to him. John was about to tell the bartender that he only wanted one drink, when Sherlock sat down next to him. He looked at John and smirked, “Well, so much for us not meeting again.”

John looked meaningfully at Sherlock as two women leaned in towards them in an attempt to catch a snatch of their conversation. Sherlock nodded that he understood and without a word they both got up. As they left, John couldn’t resist flicking a drop of his drink on the side of the woman’s neck nearest to him. Sherlock chuckled and as they left the bar, a brash American business boomed out at them. “Well, are you two having a drink together?”

Sherlock didn’t answer as they both went the opposite way. As John made his way to his room, Sherlock had quickly snuck up behind him. John held his finger to his lips and motioned for Sherlock to come into his cabin. Sherlock came in and smiled at the first class accommodations, as he made himself at home in a plush chair. “Look here John, there’s no reason why we can’t enjoy the cruise together.” Sherlock said as he pulled out a cigarette.

John felt weak in the knees, but none the less managed to speak, as he pointed to a photograph of a dark haired beautiful woman on his nightstand, “She wouldn’t like it.”

Sherlock put the cigarette back in his case and stood up abruptly. “Sorry, I guess I must be going.”

John walked him to the door,” Uh Sherlock, I hope you’re not embarrassed.”

Sherlock smiled. “No, it’s alright. Goodnight, Doctor Watson.”

John blushed and looked down. “Call me, John.”

Sherlock stared unwaveringly into John’s eyes, “Goodnight, John.”

John sank down on the bed and sighed. “Jesus, it’s just my luck to meet the gorgeous Sherlock Holmes.”

John tossed and turned all through the night, as sleep evaded him. The next morning John called for room service, had a plate of Eggs Benedict, and a couple of hours later decided to go for a swim in the ship’s Olympic sized swimming pool. After a few laps, John began to forget all about Sherlock Holmes. He was just about ready to get out of the pool, when his head bumped into another swimmer. “Ouch,” John said as he irritably frowned at the clumsy swimmer. And then to his dismay and joy, there was Sherlock laughing next to him.

“It seems we are bound to meet,” Sherlock said as he wiped a lock of curly wet hair out of his eyes.

John started to get angry and then joined Sherlock in laughter. “We are docking today. How would you like to go ashore and meet a lady?”

John splashed in the water and swam towards Sherlock, “So, do you have a woman in every port?”

Sherlock smiled mockingly at John, “The woman is my grandmother.”

John smiled back mockingly at Sherlock, “Sure, I would love to meet your grandmother.”

 


	2. The French Rivera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John looked at the intricate details of the painting’s seaside town and felt as he could reach out and touch the water of the shoreline. Sherlock’s grandma watched John intently for a few moments and then said, “Sherlock, is an artist and a critic; therefore every time he creates, the critic in him tears his art down. He is always attracted to the case he hasn’t solved, the art he hasn’t tried, the person he hasn’t met. It makes me afraid for Sherlock, for everything comes so easy to him that I am afraid that one day he will be put to the test. Life will present him with a bill that will be a high price to pay.”

Sherlock and John rode in a horse drawn carriage through the little town on the French Riviera and as they reached the top of the hill, Sherlock had the carriage stop. “Look how beautiful it is down there,” Sherlock said as he smiled at John.

John laughed and said, “So you want to hear an old joke? If it’s so beautiful down there…” “What are you doing up here?” Sherlock and John said in unison as they both laughed together.

The ride was over all too quickly and as John got out of the carriage and walked up the steps to Sherlock’s grandmother’s house, John marveled at the beauty before him. The house was white, with a red tiled roof and as they entered the bougainvillea strewn courtyard a collie ran toward them. The dog happily jumped up on Sherlock, oblivious to the silk suit Sherlock was wearing, and wagged his tail. “Good boy, good Figaro,” Sherlock said as he affectionately patted the dog on the head. The dog jumped down and ran to Sherlock’s grandma as she came out of a small chapel. “Sherlock,” she cried with joy as she came over and took his face in her hands. “Sherlock, it is so good to see you and who is this?” She said as she glanced over at John. Sherlock motioned for John to come over as he introduced John to his grandmother. “This is John, a friend of mine from the ship.” Sherlock said as he lightly put his hand on the small of John’s back.

John looked around the courtyard in wonder and said, “This is so beautiful, I think I could stay here forever.”

Sherlock’s grandma smiled sadly at John, “This is a place for people to go to remember, it’s not a place for someone as young as you, for you have yet to create your memories,” Sherlock’s grandma said softly as she reached up and touched John’s cheek.

John flushed under her intense scrutiny and asked awkwardly, “The chapel seems so lovely, may I go in it?”

Sherlock’s grandma waved him on, “Of course my dear, enjoy.”

John went into the tiny chapel, crossed himself and knelt down in front of the little altar, as he looked up the sun from a small window lit up his face, and it was this ethereal setting that Sherlock saw, as he watched John from the doorway for a moment and then slowly he walked in, crossed himself and knelt down at the altar beside John and for once in his life, Sherlock felt in awe of another human being as he prayed beside John. After a few moments of prayerful silence, Sherlock and John went into the house where Sherlock’s grandma was setting out tea things. John rushed forward to help Sherlock’s grandma as she attempted to carry the tea tray to a small table.

Sherlock’s grandma smiled up at John and said,”It’s so nice to see a man that helps out with household things.” John blushed and looked shyly at Sherlock’s grandma.

They sat down at the tea table and after a few sips of tea Sherlock restlessly got up and announced that he was going to look in on the neighbor. Sherlock’s grandma nodded and John fidgeted in his chair, unsure of what to say. His eyes rested on a landscape painting on the wall and he commented, “Why that painting is so lovely. Did you paint it?”

Sherlock’s grandma shook her head, “Sherlock painted that.”

John looked at the intricate details of the painting’s seaside town and felt as he could reach out and touch the water of the shoreline. Sherlock’s grandma watched John intently for a few moments and then said, “Sherlock, is an artist and a critic; therefore every time he creates, the critic in him tears his art down. He is always attracted to the case he hasn’t solved, the art he hasn’t tried, the person he hasn’t met. It makes me afraid for Sherlock, for everything comes so easy to him that I am afraid that one day he will be put to the test. Life will present him with a bill that will be a high price to pay.”  

John nodded and was prevented from answering as Sherlock came through the door. “Well, did my grandma treat you right?”

John nodded and laughed, “Yes, she told me how you used to throw tantrums as a child when you didn’t get your way.”

Sherlock laughed and kissed the top of his grandma’s head. “I still do if I don’t get my way. Oh by the way I painted something for you grandmother.” Sherlock handed a brown paper wrapped package and when Sherlock’s grandma peeled the paper back, she gasped. For it was a picture of her late husband.

“Oh, Sherlock, it’s wonderful,” she said as she took his hand. “It makes me miss him, but it makes me happy too,” she said as she lightly stroked the man’s features in the painting. It was as if she touched the oil on the canvas, her husband would magically come to life.

John shivered for it was late afternoon and as the sun began to go down the chill of night slowly descended upon them. “Are you cold, dear?” Sherlock’s grandma asked as she pulled a man’s white cardigan from the back of a chair. “Here dear, wear this.”

John took the cardigan and slipped it on. “This is a wonderful piece of craftsmanship,” John said as he fingered the sweater.

Sherlock’s grandma looked out into the distance and smiled, “Someday I will send it to you,” she said softly.

Sherlock anxious to dispel the serious mood that had come upon them all, walked over to the piano. “Is my violin still under the here?” Sherlock said as he knelt down and pulled out a battered old case. He opened it up and exclaimed, “It’s still in tune.”

Sherlock’s grandma nodded, “It was your grandfather’s and I have a local violinist come and play it and tune it once a month. He is skilled, but nothing compared to you and your grandfather.”

Sherlock held the violin up and smiled, “Grandma, join me at the piano,” he said as he tightened up the hair of bow.

Sherlock’s grandma shook her head, “Oh Sherlock, I can’t really play anymore,” she said as she looked down at her gnarled hands.

Sherlock waved her off, “Nonsense,” he said as he grabbed a piece of sheet music off the table.

It was a beautiful Chopin Nocturne and John was thoroughly entranced with their playing, just as they stopped, the ship’s whistle blew, shattering the peaceful tranquility of the afternoon.

Sherlock’s grandma looked sad, “Time for you to go I suppose,” she said as she hugged Sherlock and then hugged John as well.

As Sherlock waved good-by, it would be the last time he would see his grandma and as if she sensed it she blew Sherlock a kiss and shouted out as loud as she could muster, ”Sherlock, I love you.”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead as the carriage took them back to where the ship was docked.

 


	3. Shipboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s face flushed slightly as he joined Sherlock in his booth. Sherlock stared at John for so long that John felt as if he were going to faint. “Suddenly, I don’t feel hungry anymore, let’s go for a stroll.” John said as his fingers lightly touched Sherlock’s arm. The heat from John’s touch penetrated through his suit and Sherlock shivered from the effect. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and offered John his arm and then John got up smiled and took Sherlock’s arm with pride. Once they were on the deck John felt jittery as the cold air hit his sweaty body. Sherlock reached out to pull John into his arm and then pulled back shyly. “John, you seem cold. I can hear the dance music starting. Would you…you dance with me?” Sherlock whispered, as he held out his arms.

Sherlock and John avoided each other aboard ship to prevent gossip; however it soon became apparent that their efforts were futile. For that evening all heads turned as John walked to a single table in the ship’s dining room in his dinner tuxedo, like an audience during a tennis match all the diners then swiveled their heads around to watch Sherlock’s reaction to his entrance. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat as the head waiter showed John to a booth that was back to back against Sherlock’s. Sherlock scooted back against the booth as John sat down, “You look magnificent tonight.”

John’s heart was pounding so hard, he felt sure that every person aboard the ship could hear it. “You look marvelous as well,” John answered. “What do you recommend on the menu tonight?”

Sherlock held up his menu and whispered, “Avoid the chicken, stick to the fish.”

The room full of diners could contain themselves no longer, as they all started to laugh. Sherlock smirked, “John, we aren’t fooling anyone, come over here and join me.”

John’s face flushed slightly as he joined Sherlock in his booth.  Sherlock stared at John for so long that John felt as if he were going to faint. “Suddenly, I don’t feel hungry anymore, let’s go for a stroll.” John said as his fingers lightly touched Sherlock’s arm.  The heat from John’s touch penetrated through his suit and Sherlock shivered from the effect. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and offered John his arm and then John got up smiled and took Sherlock’s arm with pride. Once they were on the deck John felt jittery as the cold air hit his sweaty body. Sherlock reached out to pull John into his arm and then pulled back shyly. “John, you seem cold. I can hear the dance music starting. Would you…you dance with me?” Sherlock whispered, as he held out his arms.

John nodded and as Sherlock’s arm encircled his waist, John had never felt so safe and so vulnerable at the same time. “God, this is heaven,” John thought as Sherlock nuzzled his neck and even after the music stopped they both swayed in each other’s arms until a child’s voice calling for help drew them apart.

“Help, Help, I’m stuck,” the boy cried out as Sherlock and John approached him. Sherlock was the first to reach him, but had no luck disentangling him as he pulled on his legs.

John laughed, “You’ve got him upside down, Dad, here let me,” John said as he gently disentangled the boy and set him upright.

“Hey, the boy said, “Aren’t you Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?”

Sherlock and John looked at each other and answered in unison, “Yes.”

The boy looked up at them both and giggled, “Everybody on board is talking about you two.”

John looked grave and bent down to the boy’s level, “And just what is everyone saying?”

“They stop talking every time I enter the room, I don’t get it,” the boy said and shrugged.

Sherlock and John chuckled, as the boy held out his arms to John, “Give me a piggy back ride,” he begged.

John pretended to put out and said, “Alright, just this once.” The boy wrapped his arms around John’s neck and off they went. Sherlock lit a cigarette as he watched them leave, “God, I envy that child right now,” Sherlock thought as he inhaled deeply.

A few moments later John returned, slightly out of breath, Sherlock didn’t say a word, as he continued to smoke, for he couldn’t remember when he had last felt this overwhelmed, in fact he could never remember being this overwhelmed. John looked flustered as well, as he ran his hands through his hair. “What the heck?” John said aloud as his hands caught at something sticky.

Sherlock threw his cigarette down and walked over to where John stood, “Here let me take a look.” Sherlock said as he sifted through John’s hair, “It appears that the little bugger put a massive wad of gum in your hair.”

“Bloody hell, how am I going to get it out,” John cursed.

Sherlock laughed, “I have a pair of barber’s scissors in my cabin. Come on.”

As they walked back to Sherlock’s cabin, John felt an increasing amount of nervousness building up in his stomach, so that by the time they reached the door, John felt as if he was going to be sick. Sherlock smiled back at John in the semi-darkness and motioned for John to come in. John hesitated at the doorway. “Don’t worry I don’t bite,” Sherlock said as he pulled out a chair for John to sit in. John smiled back and sat in the chair obediently.

“I’m just going to get the scissors. Oh and if you don’t mind scoot the chair up to the writing desk there is more light there.” Sherlock said as he whisked out of the room. John put his arms on the desk and placed his head face down to rest on them. After a few moments Sherlock came back and approached John. “John, I’m going to have to cut some of your hair to get the gum out. Is that okay?”

John looked sideways up at Sherlock and said, “That’s fine.”

Sherlock put his cool hand on John’s warm neck and then began to snip at the gum embedded in his hair. John felt chill bumps run up and down his arms as Sherlock guided the blade along his scalp. After he had cut most of the gum out Sherlock ran his fingers through the short tuffs of John’s hair and massaged his neck. After a few moments Sherlock reluctantly pulled his hands away before things got out of control. “I think I got most of it,” Sherlock said as his voice cracked.

John stood up and faced Sherlock, “Thank you,” he whispered, as Sherlock took his hand and kissed it. John looked up at him; his lips slightly parted beckoning to Sherlock. “Jesus,” Sherlock thought and pulled John into his arms and began to kiss him. After a few moments of such intense pleasure that Sherlock could never hope to repeat it; he pulled away from John. “You’d better leave now, unless you want to stay,” Sherlock said huskily as he encircled his arms around John’s waist.

“I’d better not, I need to think and I won’t be able to do that if I stay, but let’s not waste any time. We only have a few days left of the cruise and let’s spend every moment together and then we’ll come up with a long term plan.” John said. His blue eyes sparkled as he gave Sherlock a chaste good-night kiss. “Tomorrow,” John whispered.

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock whispered.

 


	4. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stood behind Sherlock as the cameras blinded them both, after a few shots, John excused himself on the pretense of a special engagement. As he moved past Sherlock, Sherlock lightly touched his arm and even though his touch was light, it felt as if John’s arm had caught fire, as he put his hand over the place in an attempt to memorize the feeling of Sherlock’s touch on his arm. John looked through the crowd and waved as he spotted Sharon. Before he made his way over to where Sharon waited for him, John spared one more backwards glance at Sherlock. Sherlock caught his eye and even though he was being swallowed up by the crowd, Sherlock maintained eye contact with John as long as he could.

Sherlock wrapped a scarf around his neck as he ran on deck to meet John. John was standing on the deck looking out at the skyline of New York City and Sherlock noted with sorrow that his face looked troubled. “Well, I must put a stop to that immediately,” Sherlock thought as he wrapped his arms around John’s waist and kissed him on the neck.

John turned into Sherlock’s arms and smiled, “Sherlock…” John whispered and then cleared his throat before he totally lost it. “I didn’t get any sleep last night; I’m scared but excited too.”

Sherlock nodded and was about to say, “Me too,” when his phone beeped stating he had a message. At about the same time John’s phone beeped as well. They both looked at their phones read then messages and then swapped phones so that they could each read each other’s messages.

Sherlock’s message read: “Darling, can’t wait to see you, I’ll be waiting at the dock. Love Nina.”

John’s message read. “Sweetheart can’t wait to see you, be at the dock counting the seconds.”

As they both handed their phones back to the original owner, Sherlock and John felt the enormity of their situation bearing down on them. John was the first to speak, “John, I’ve been thinking, in addition to my detective cases, I want to paint and compose again. I mean both of us are definitely going to have some lifestyle changes. No champagne etc.”

John smiled happily at Sherlock, “Well, how do you feel about beer?”

Sherlock grinned back, “It sounds wonderful. Now I was thinking where are we going to meet in New York?”

John thought for a few moments and then snapped his fingers, “I know in six months, let’s meet at the top of the Empire State Building.”

Sherlock nodded, “That will be like heaven…I mean that sounds sort of corny doesn’t it?”

John loved how shy Sherlock was when he spoke. “Sherlock, I am already missing you.”

Sherlock reached out to pull John into an embrace, but the loud speaker overhead announced that the ship be pulling into harbor soon. Glancing up in irritation, Sherlock frowned and rubbed John’s arm. “We’d better get ready to face things, our ship ride is almost over,” Sherlock said apprehensively he patted John on the arm.

John nodded, “We should make a plan B in case one of us can’t make it. You know something dire, unavoidable”

Sherlock shook his head, “Nope, we’ll be there come hell or high water,” he said as his eyes devoured the sight of his sweetheart Doctor that he would not see for six months.

John gripped Sherlock’s hand, brought it to his lips and then reluctantly pulled away to get ready to disembark.

As Sherlock Holmes, walked down the gangway, the area was full of photographers and news cameras waiting to catch every move he made as walked down the ramp over to where Nina stood waving frantically.

John stood behind Sherlock as the cameras blinded them both, after a few shots, John excused himself on the pretense of a special engagement. As he moved past Sherlock, Sherlock lightly touched his arm and even though his touch was light, it felt as if John’s arm had caught fire, as he put his hand over the place in an attempt to memorize the feeling of Sherlock’s touch on his arm. John looked through the crowd and waved as he spotted Sharon. Before he made his way over to where Sharon waited for him, John spared one more backwards glance at Sherlock. Sherlock caught his eye and even though he was being swallowed up by the crowd, Sherlock maintained eye contact with John as long as he could.

Nina chatted nonstop on the way back to their penthouse. “Now, Sherlock let me take a look at you. Hmm that purple shirt is a bit wrinkled, but it will have to do for the interview.”

Sherlock snapped his head around to face her, “What interview?”

Nina smiled and signed, “Oh, Sherlock, you forgot? Well, no matter, my publicist will clue us both in.”

Sherlock nodded and looked out the window as trees, buildings and cars rushed by and Sherlock’s heart felt heavy, for with each tree, each car and each building that whipped by  he was being carried further away from John.

Sharon studied John’s face on the cab ride home, “John, I thought that the cruise would be good for you, but you look pale and tired. Is everything okay?”

 

John smiled absent mindedly and said, “I’m fine, just fine…”

By the time they reached their appointment John was exhausted and when Sharon opened the door, John turned on the T.V. and plopped down on the couch.

The show was some type of interview show and John leaned forward in excitement when he noticed that Sherlock was one of the guests.

Sherlock swatted at the makeup person, “I don’t need that stuff.”

The makeup person looked at Nina who just smiled benignly at the T.V. crew and shrugged her shoulders.

Without further ado the crew began filming and the interviewer asked Sherlock, “So, when is the wedding going to be?”

Sherlock stared pointedly at the camera and said, “Six months.”

The interviewer looked a little surprised and asked, “Six months?”

Sherlock nodded affirmatively, “Yes, we will be married in New York six months from now and I plan to help support my partner by painting, composing, and detective cases.”

The interviewer looked confused again, “You already have a house full of priceless paintings and art treasures.”

Sherlock leaned forward, “It’s just as I said I plan to get married in six months, and in the meantime I will work on painting, composing and my detective cases.”

Sharon came and sat down next to John as he watched the interview, “I bet she never gets him to the altar. Hey, John, isn’t that Sherlock Holmes?”

John nodded, “Uh haw.”

“Wasn’t he on the same cruise as you?”

John nodded again, “Uh haw.”

“Was he handsome and irresistible?”

John nodded again, “Uh haw.”

Sharon grabbed the remote and turned off the T.V., “John, what are you saying?”

John looked down at the ground, “I didn’t plan it. We just fell in love.”

Sharon and John didn’t speak as they silently contemplated the bombshell John had just laid them. 


	5. The Nearest Thing to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John nodded and then grabbed his shirt and waved goodbye as he ran out of the shop and down the street. As he ran closer to his destination, John felt as if the frantic pace of the city were keeping time to the beating of his heart. He ran parallel down the side walk so that he could see the Empire State Building from the opposite side of the street, “I’m almost there, I am almost there, Sherlock. Sherlock is the closest thing to heaven I will ever find, “John thought as he hastily looked both ways and darted out into the street. He never heard the car as it tried to screech to a halt, he never felt the impact of metal against flesh, and he never felt Sherlock’s anger as he waited and waited for him hour after hour for a person that would never show up.

6 Months Later

John ran down the street in a happy daze, for today he was to meet Sherlock Holmes at the top of the Empire State Building and they were going to get married. Breathlessly he ran into the posh shop where he used to buy his suits when he was with Sharon and he hadn’t even been there five seconds when two sales girls pounced on him, “John, how nice to see you. It’s been so long. What do you want to look at today? We just got in a shipment of Armani Suits…”

John smiled, “I just need a simple, inexpensive dress shirt.”

The girls looked at each other in surprise and for the first time they looked at what he was wearing, John noticed their expressions and laughed, “I know, I know I didn’t get it here.”

The girls looked at each other again and smiled, “Okay, I will go and get you a selection”, one of the girls said as she disappeared in the back.

Once she was out of earshot the sales girl picked up the phone and dialed a number, “Hello, Sharon, is that you? Well, I thought I’d just tell you that John is here.”

The voice on the other end paused and said, “Just keep him busy I will be right there.”

John sighed as the sales girl brought out one outlandish shirt after another until he firmly said, “I just want a simple white dress shirt.”

John looked at the white shirt that the sales girl held out to him and he said, “That’s fine, and I will pay cash.”

Both girls looked at each again, “Cash? You don’t want it on you and Sharon’s account?”

John shook his head, “No, just the one shirt please and I will pay cash. I know I know you think I am crazy, but I am getting married…”

John stopped talking when he saw Sharon coming through the double doors and he shook his finger at the girls, “Now, I know why you tried to hold me here,” he said as Sharon approached him.

“John, you look wonderful? How are you?” Sharon asked in an attempt to hide her excitement at seeing him again.

John took her hands in his and smiled sadly, “Sharon, I’m fine, but I’m in a hurry, I’m going to meet someone and we’re to be…”

“Married?” Sharon asked.

John nodded, as he kissed Sharon on the side of the cheek. Afterwards she looked down for a moment and then caressed John’s face, “I’m happy for you and just keep in mind if you ever need me I’ll be there for you.”

John nodded and then grabbed his shirt and waved goodbye as he ran out of the shop and down the street. As he ran closer to his destination, John felt as if the frantic pace of the city were keeping time to the beating of his heart. He ran parallel down the side walk so that he could see the Empire State Building from the opposite side of the street, “I’m almost there, I am almost there, Sherlock. Sherlock is the closest thing to heaven I will ever find, “John thought as he hastily looked both ways and darted out into the street. He never heard the car as it tried to screech to a halt, he never felt the impact of metal against flesh, and he never felt Sherlock’s anger as he waited and waited for him hour after hour for a person that would never show up.

The rain pounded against the panes of glass that looked out onto the observation deck as Sherlock paced back and forth hour after hour, growing hurt and angry with each step he took. Around midnight a guard came over, “Sir, we’re closing. Sir?”

“What?” Sherlock snapped.

The guard cleared his throat, “Sir, we are closing you are going to have to leave.”

Sherlock nodded and rode the elevator down, and as the car sank further and further down, Sherlock felt that he had been played and he hated himself for ever letting his heart run his head.

John groaned in agony and tossed back and forth on the hospital bed, “God, please help me, Sherlock, Sherlock, please…where are you Sherlock?” John screamed just before he lost consciousness.

Sharon wept at the foot of his bed at the anguish that John was suffering and when the Doctor came in and told Sharon that it was possible that John would never walk again, she wept once more.  A few weeks later John was released from the hospital with a grim diagnosis, as to whether he would be able to use his legs again and as Sharon wheeled John from the hospital she said, “John, why don’t you let me tell him?”

John shook his head, “No, I want to be able to walk to him.”

Sharon sighed, “At least let me help you out.”

John shook his head again, “No, if I let you help me out, he wouldn’t like it and if I got well and left you for him, you wouldn’t like it. Plus, it’s enough that you’re flying back to London with me. Not to mention the job you got me as a consulting physician job in a clinic.”

Sharon patted John’s arm, “Okay, John.”

Even though they were in first class, John was intensely uncomfortable during the entire flight, so that by the time the plane landed, a fine sheen of sweat stood out on his upper lip, for even the pain killers weren’t helping.

“John, are you okay?” Sharon asked as she wheeled John through the airport and to a waiting cab.

“I’m fine just help get me to my flat, and I will be fine,” John said through gritted teeth.

***

Sherlock was glad to back in London, far away from everything that reminded him of John for even though he and Sherlock were going to go back to London after Sherlock’s case was over, Sherlock didn’t know John’s London address and John didn’t know his, so it was as if the cruise had never taken place. Sherlock paused outside the gallery where his paintings were displayed and then sighed and went in.

The gallery owner, who he had solved a fraud case for a few years earlier greeted Sherlock with open arms, “Sherlock, come in, come in, I just sold another one of your women.”

Sherlock chuckled as several patrons turned to stare at him, “Marco, which one did you sell?”

“The one with the ample chest, it was not your best work, but it was full of anger and appealed to the buyer, so that’s all that matters, correcto?” Marco said as he walked over to another painting. His expression sobered, as he looked at a the painting of a young man in a cardigan sweater. Sun light bathed his face, as an older woman stood by his side, with her hands on his shoulders. “Now this painting is genius, it has an almost esoteric quality to it. The painter has left the angry stage and has come full circle to resolution and forgiveness.”

Sherlock nodded, “I was clean when I painted that one.”

Marco patted Sherlock on the shoulder, “Aw, my dear Sherlock, the art process is a painful one, is it not?”

Sherlock didn’t answer for his throat felt swollen, and his eyes filled with tears, “John, why did you abandon me? What did I ever do to deserve the way you treated me?” Sherlock thought sadly.

 

 


	6. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve for John might just have gotten better.

John watched the snow falling out of the window of the medical clinic as the last of the carolers left, and even though he couldn’t possibly hear their laughter, he could swear he heard them, high pitched, and joyous full of hope for the future. John smiled sadly for he didn’t know whether to envy or pity them. His pain was severe and John shifted his weight in the wheelchair in a futile effort to get comfortable. After a few moments of twisting, grimacing and grunting, John gave up and just sat back and waited for a medical transport van to take him home. As he was waiting the head nurse came up and bent down on one knee so that she was eye level with John. John knew the gesture was meant to make him feel at less of a disadvantage, but all it did was make him feel like a baby in a stroller.

“John, are you sure you don’t want to spend Christmas Eve with my husband and I?” The brown skinned nurse asked John. Her liquid brown eyes stared into John’s deep blue eyes and for a moment they absorbed his grief, then her expression shifted and her mind moved on to happier things-Christmas things.

John smiled at her attempt, “No, I’m good for a warm quiet night at home is what I have been looking forward to.”

The nurse nodded sadly for they both knew he was lying, as John smiled in assurance at her the nurse wavered for a moment or two and then with a gentle nod from John she bolted away from him, lest she become too immersed in his world of sadness, for no one wants to be reminded that his or her life could become tragically altered in a second. John watched her scurry past the window, through the falling snow, her figure briefly illuminate by the red tail lights of the medical transport van. A young man bounded in through the front doors, looked around for a few moments and then as soon as he spotted John he came trotting over.

“Are you waiting for the medical transport van?” He asked cheerfully.

John wanted to say, “No, I was just about to go bungee jumping.” Instead all he said was, “Yes, thank you.” Then like a helpless infant John let himself be wheeled up the ramp and into the van. The ride home made John feel like he was in a snow globe looking out, his own world a transparent imitation of the world he observed through the fogged over windows of the van. Soon the van was pulling up to the curb in front of his flat, another ride down the van ramp and another ride up the ramp to his flat, then after a few moments of John fumbling for his flat keys, the young man wheeled him inside. The flat was cold and John shivered as he rolled over and turned on the lights, a small Christmas Tree that his neighbor had put in the corner of the room, winked pathetically at John as he rolled over and switched on the multi-colored lights. John then let the young man settle him on the couch, and then he wheeled the chair on the other side of the couch, so that John could easily reach it, but so that he wouldn’t have to look at it.

The young man looked around, anxious to be off, “Well, sir is there anything else I can do for you?” He asked and John smiled at the impetuousness of youth, for he could see that the young man’s muscles quivered urging him to move on.

“I’m fine, thank you,” John said as he sat up straighter in his chair.

“Right then, Merry Christmas,” the young man said as he practically ran out of the dismal flat, leaving John to face the coldness of the flat alone.

John had just started to get warm when the doorbell rang. “Who the bloody hell could that be?” John thought angrily as he reached for the remote button that would unlock his door.  Not bothering to ask who it was John pressed the button, the click of the lock slid open as John called out, “Come in.”

John had assumed it was his good natured neighbor come to tuck him in like a child, but Jesus it wasn’t the neighbor; it was… it…was Sherlock.


	7. Why You?

John’s mouth stood open as Sherlock breezed in through the open door, “God he’s magnificent, so full of life,” John thought as Sherlock nervously paced the perimeters of the room, his long, black coat trailing behind him.

“Well, I was surfing the web for information on a case I was working on and I happened to run across your Blog, and so I violated a few privacy laws and thought, hhmm I wonder what my old friend John Watson is up to, after all I was supposed to meet him somewhere and I never showed up, so I must apologize.” Sherlock said as he snapped out the words, making sure that John could not mistake the hardness in his tone.

John looked confused for a moment and then looked out into the distance, “So, you weren’t there?”

“Nope,” Sherlock answered not letting up on the pressure, as his steely green eyes bored into John’s sad, dark blue eyes. “So, John, what did you do?”

John cleared his throat and said, “Well, first I was worried and then the longer I waited I got mad. Finally, I told myself to just go home and get drunk because I waited there until…”

“Midnight,” Sherlock answered flatly.

“Oh…” John whispered.

“Midnight, where were you?” Sherlock hissed and then stepped back as he felt his control slipping.

John could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he turned away from Sherlock, “No, more questions, please, for we said that if one of us wasn’t there, that there would have to be a damn good reason.”

Sherlock stamped back and forth in frustration, “So, I’m not allowed to ask a question?”

John shook his head, the tears openly spilling down his face by this time, “Please, let’s change the subject,” he begged. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared back; frustrated for there was something about the situation he was missing, “Merry Christmas, John. Oh, I almost forgot I have something for you,” Sherlock said as he handed John a brown wrapped package.

John took the package and looked down, “I don’t have anything for you.” He said as he carefully un-wrapped the package.

Sherlock shrugged and replied, “Well, it’s not really a Christmas present.”

John held the white cardigan up that had been Sherlock’s Grandmother’s, “Oh, so that’ why my letters came back. I’m so sorry Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded curtly and then drew in a deep breath as he looked at John with the cardigan draped around his shoulders. “You know I painted you like that once, the Gallery owner said it was my best work. I thought I would never part with it, but a young man came in and wanted to buy it, he had no money, so I told the owner to give it to him. Besides he was he was…in a …in a …oh Jesus no,” Sherlock whispered as he made his way to John’s bedroom and threw open the door. There on the wall the painting hung, the angelic face of John wearing the cardigan as an ethereal light shone in his eyes-the eyes of an angel-his angel-John.

As Sherlock quietly left the room, he noticed the wheelchair backed in a corner, overwhelmed by the situation Sherlock tried to compose himself, after a few attempts he strode over to the couch where John lay. Sherlock didn’t bother to wipe the tear that slid down his cheek as he took John’s ice cold hands in his own, “Oh God, John, why did it have to be you?”

John gripped Sherlock’s hands tightly, and in the nasal tone that Sherlock loved so much he replied, “No, No, Sherlock, just---ddon’t blame yourself, for I was looking up when I should have been looking down. After all if you can paint, I should bloody well be able to walk, shouldn’t I?”

Sherlock had still not moved as shivers of shock made his hands tremble. “John, I love you, I thought I would never utter those words-ever. John…marry me please.”

John looked at Sherlock in dismay for how could he expect Sherlock to tote a cripple around town.

Sherlock looked back at John again, his eyes pleading, his integrity shattered, “John, will you marry me?”

The question hung heavily in the room, answered only by the hiss of gas from the pipes hidden behind the imitation logs in the fireplace.

 

 

 


	8. Come Home to Baker Street

“John, you did hear me didn’t you?” Sherlock asked again as he paced around the room once more.

John nodded and then looked down at the ground, “Sherlock, I can’t marry you. I mean how do you expect to keep up with your active lifestyle toting a cripple around?”

Sherlock stopped and looked at John as if he had spoken in Mandarin (No, that’s not right for Sherlock speaks all languages), in an unknown language. “John, not to worry I will ring Mrs. Hudson, my I mean our landlady, so that she can get me the name of a contractor that can make the flat accessible for …for you. I’ve got it all worked out, so not to worry.” Sherlock said as he clapped his hands together, refusing to accept defeat.

“Sherlock, I haven’t said yes yet,” John replied softly as he tried to track Sherlock’s movements.

Sherlock stopped and looked at John quizzically, “John, we both know you will say yes, so I am just saving us both some time.”

John laughed. “Sherlock, you are so arrogant, I should find it annoying, but somehow it suits you. Seriously, Sherlock, being caretaker for a partially paralyzed person is a lot of work, and I just don’t see how…” John’s voice trailed off for Sherlock was across the room in an instant, making John blink at the almost supernatural speed at which Sherlock ended up by his side. Sherlock stared at John’s thin lips obsessively for a few moments as he took in every detail, the way they rested, the top portion slightly over bottom ,the way John sucked the lower corner of his lip in just enough to detract  but not diminish its size.  Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed John lightly on the lips.

John closed his eyes, as he waited for the all-consuming kisses that Sherlock had bestowed upon him  while they were at sea, and was disappointed when there was only one gentle kiss. “Well, that was not like the kisses you gave me when we traveled last.” John said jokingly in an effort to hide the rejection he felt by such a platonic kiss.

Sherlock didn’t miss the underlying nuance of John’s tone so he leaned in closer, as his eyes bored into John’s. “John, if you think I don’t find you desirable, then you are sadly mistaken, for as we speak I find it difficult not to lose myself in…in…you. Well, I suppose it would be easier to show you, wouldn’t it?” Sherlock said as he gently tilted John’s face towards his letting his full lips linger on John’s cheek, then he inhaled  shakily, pressed his full lips against John’s, the kiss was gentle at first but increased in intensity when John’s mouth returned his passion. After a few moments Sherlock pulled away, wrestled out of his jacket, threw it to the ground and resumed his kiss with John. After a few moments of the most intense pleasure Sherlock had known he reluctantly pulled himself from John’s arms and stood up. “John,” he muttered hoarsely. “John, I’m in the middle of a case and I have an art show coming up, so I have to keep focused, but know this I want you to marry me and I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I’ve been waiting for you so long, so John marry me and come home to 221b Baker Street.” 

John was still recovering from Sherlock’s kiss as he struggled to breathe normally, “Yes, Sherlock I will marry you.”

Sherlock winked and then jauntily strutted around the room, “How does day after tomorrow sound?”

John’s head was still spinning from the turn of events that evening, “Sherlock, how could we possible get a civil union ceremony performed so quickly?”

Sherlock stopped strutting and smiled at John, “I’m Sherlock Holmes, and everyone in this city owes me a favor.”

John laughed, “Even the Queen?”

“Especially the Queen,” Sherlock smirked.

“Sherlock,” John began softly, “Do you want to…to spend the night?”

Sherlock stopped and took a deep breath, “I will spend Christmas Eve with you, but John I am well I mean it’s just that I don’t...I mean I want to spend the night, but first things first, let’s get married.”

“Sherlock, are you telling me that you are old fashioned?” John asked.

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed as he stammered, “Yes, I think so…”

John held up a hand, “It’s okay Sherlock, all the other stuff will work itself out.”

Sherlock awkwardly backed out of the main room went into the kitchen and when he opened the small refrigerator he gasped for there was nothing in it. “John, your ice box is empty.”

Sherlock peeked around the corner and John looked down, “Sherlock, my land lady does the shopping for me and well I’ve already eaten so no need to worry.”

Sherlock strode across the room, stood next to John just as John’s stomach growled like a fierce beast. “John, don’t lie to me. When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday,” John whispered.

Sherlock looked lost for a moment and then he smiled, “Fine, we’ll order in. John, I’m going to take care of you, I’m going to take care of us both.”

John looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, his hero, the love of his life and though Sherlock gazed at him in adoration, he also looked afraid for Sherlock had never had to care for another person and though the idea intrigued him it also scared him, for what if the worst happened? What if he became bored? What if he failed?

 

 

 


	9. You Saved Me

The day of the ceremony, John was so nervous that he felt as if he were going to be ill. Sherlock arrived right on time and as he helped John into his wheelchair and then bundled him into a cab, John’s head spun with the energy that Sherlock exuded with every move. “By God, he’s going to be difficult to keep up with,” John thought nervously as Sherlock fidgeted in the seat next to him. The cab had barely come to a stop in front of the magistrate’s office when Sherlock jumped out, paid the cabbie, came around bustled John into his wheelchair and off they went, so fast that John laughed for it felt as if he were a child again on a  tilt o whirl ride at the fair.

“Sherlock, slow down,” John laughed as the wheelchair careened wildly around another corner.

“Sorry, John, we’ve got to hurry, for I’ve…we’ve got a potential client coming to Baker Street and I want you and me to review the details of the case together before we take it.” Sherlock replied breathlessly as he wheeled John into a small office.

The ceremony was performed by a dour looking little man and John wondered what favor Sherlock had done for him to get a ceremony performed so quickly. John’s head jerked to attention when the magistrate asked in a monotone voice, “The rings please?”

John looked at Sherlock in a panic, “Oh my God, Sherlock, rings I didn’t even think of that.”

Sherlock winked at John as he pulled two rings out of his pocket and John was utterly amazed when his ring fit perfectly. “Sherlock, how did you know my ring size?”

Sherlock smiled smugly and replied. “I can look at any person and tell their ring size, their shoe size, their shirt size….etc,”  Sherlock’s voice trailed off as his face colored.

“How cute he’s embarrassed,” John thought as he looked down at the ground. After a few moments of silence John decided to give Sherlock a break and he changed the subject as he held his hand up to inspect his ring. “This is really quite lovely, Sherlock, thank you.”

Sherlock nodded happily and then frowned, “Well, they are lovely rings, but they don’t match. I hope you don’t mind…that they don’t match. I mean well I got them from Molly.”

John frowned and then said, “Molly? You mean Molly Hooper your friend that works at the morgue?”

Sherlock looked at John with pride at his deduction, “Yes, that’s right.”

John then looked at Sherlock dubiously and said, “Sherlock, did these rings come from one of Molly’s….”

Sherlock looked at John like a quizzical puppy and said innocently, “What? It’s not as if the owners were going to use them and they were just lying unused in a cabinet of unclaimed items.”

John smiled and said, “Well, I guess you’re right there is no sense in a lovely ring going to waste and as long as they were cleaned properly then no harm done. Sherlock, the rings have been cleaned haven’t they?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and then he looked straight ahead and said. “Sure, I’m sure they were.”

John sighed, “Sherlock, you are so charming even when you lie.”

Sherlock was about to argue back and then changed his mind as he held up their marriage license, they both decided to keep their own last names for practical reasons and as John took the license in his hand he laughed. “It makes me feel that you’ve just picked up a dog from the shelter.”

Sherlock ruffled the top of John’s hair and said fondly, “Good boy.”

John laughed and grasped Sherlock’s hand and whispered, “I love you Sherlock, you saved me.”

Sherlock looked away and then stared back into John eyes, “No, John Hamish Watson, you saved me and will continue to do so every day for the rest of our lives.” Then Sherlock clapped his hands together and said, “Come on, enough of this emotionalism, the game is on and we have  a potential case to solve.”


	10. Counting Sheep

“So, what do you think?” Sherlock asked as John peered at the gruesome pictures on Sherlock’s laptop. When John didn’t immediately answer Sherlock carried on aloud as if John weren’t in the room, “We have twelve Cuckoo Clocks, each clock is not functional and inside each clock is a severed finger, not the same finger though, one clock a thumb, one an index finger, etc. So, John what do you think the killer is trying to tell us?”

John looked up a Sherlock’s adorable face and wanted to kiss him on the tip of his nose, “I never thought I would be spending my honeymoon this way,” John thought with disappointment and then one glance at Sherlock’s bright eyes and John was hooked again. After all what did it matter as long as they were together? “Each finger has been severed at the proximal phalanx,” John said and then paused as he waited for Sherlock to ask what the proximal phalanx was.

Sherlock sighed impatiently,”John, I know what a proximal phalanx is, go on.”

John grinned sideways at Sherlock and said,”Of course you do. You are a proper genius, my proper genius.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, he swallowed, then spoke as if in slow motion, “John, …lets…just focus…on the case.” The “s” in case sounded like a hiss as Sherlock elongated the syllables.

John blushed looked away and then said, “Right, then, the fingers…Umm..the victims appear to be male and female, with no random pattern.”

“Think, John there is always a pattern. Twelve adults, male and female, all different nationalities, John don’t you see?” Without waiting for John to reply, Sherlock’s words burst out like a machine gun, “John, the twelve people, they are jurors.”

John was starting to tire and he should have taken a pain pill at least two hours prior, for he could feel the dull ache at the base of his spine starting to throb, “Sherlock,” John began and then stopped when the sound of his growling stomach filled the room.

Sherlock moved his head to one side and then looked at his watch, “Oh it’s only after midnight, but no matter, are you hungry John?”

John nodded for the pain was becoming so intense that he didn’t trust himself to speak. Sherlock jumped up from his chair with such energy that John envied how smooth Sherlock’s movements were, he then came around and pushed John’s wheelchair into the kitchen. After a few bewildering attempts of looking in the refrigerator, and saying things like, “Oh, I forgot about the spleen and damn Mrs. Hudson has been invading my privacy again for I felt certain there was a lung in here as well.” Sherlock bounced around the room and finally settled on a box of stale crackers and some tepid tea.

John smiled and took the meager rations gratefully, for Sherlock beamed with pride at the fact that he actually found something for John to eat. Once John finished a few crackers and the tea he fished a pain pill out of his pocket, as Sherlock ran around behind him, pushing his chair back in the sitting room. “God, I’m exhausted,” John thought as he struggled to maintain equilibrium between the pain and his normal countenance, for he didn’t want Sherlock to see him grimace as he fought for control.

“Sherlock, I’m a bit tired, do you mind if I go to sleep now?” John asked in between breaths.

Sherlock smacked his head with the heel of his palm and said, ”God, John what a selfish pig I have been, you must be exhausted. Come on, let’s put you to bed.”

Sherlock’s bedroom, soon to be their bedroom was a chaotic mess, socks, various garments, an old bag of crisps, and various unidentified objects lay scattered around the room.

John laughed and said, “Sherlock, don’t worry about the room, its fine. What I really need to do is pee.”

Sherlock looked panic stricken for neither of them had thought about how the logistics in that department were going to work. John wheeled over to Sherlock and said, “It’s alright, Sherlock, just wheel me to the restroom and help me out of the chair and then I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

Sherlock blushed and nodded as he replied, “Okay, right.”

Sherlock wheeled John into the bathroom with ease and then the dun dun DUUUN moment came, the moment when John needed to be transferred from the chair to the toilet. “Sherlock, it’s alright John said as he gave instructions, “Just wheel my chair parallel to the toilet, lift me under my arms and lower me down to the seat, then I will unbutton my pants. After that I’ll need you to pull my pants and my…underwear down and then I’ll call for you when I’m ready to be put back in the chair.”

Sherlock nodded bravely, handed John a towel to throw on his lap for privacy and then at John’s signal he slipped John’s pants down.  When Sherlock’s hands reached his upper thigh, John jumped as Sherlock apologized, “I’m sorry my hands are cold.”

John forced his mind to stay calm as he replied, “It’s okay, you can leave me on my own now.”

It seemed like hours later when Sherlock returned, discretely helped John into a pair of pajamas, and finally settled him comfortably in the bed.

“Good-night,” Sherlock said as he bent over and kissed John’s forehead.

Before John could reply, Sherlock scurried out of the room, leaving John alone. No matter how many sheep John counted, he couldn’t get to sleep and was still awake when Sherlock slid in next to him around 3 A.M. “Sherlock?” John asked.

For a moment Sherlock didn’t answer and when he did his voice was low and shaky, “John, are you okay? Why can’t you sleep?”

John licked his lips and took Sherlock’s ice cold one in his own, “Sherlock, just because I’m in a wheelchair doesn’t mean that I’m not…well you know…functional. I mean I can have intimate…relations.”

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand so tight that he almost cried out, “John, I…” Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he rolled over on his side to face John.

John reached out and unbuttoned the top two buttons of Sherlock’s pajama top, and let his fingers trail across Sherlock’s soft skin. Sherlock drew a deep breath and rolled over and began to kiss, John, slowly at first and then the kiss became, deeper, stronger, and desperate. After a few moments, Sherlock drew breathlessly away, looked down at his own body lengthwise, cursed, jumped out of bed and said, “John I’m sorry, I just can’t…I love you, but I just…can’t…it’s me I…”, and without another word he left the room leaving John to wonder what he had done wrong.

 

 


	11. A Sociopath or a Man?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my youtube Sherlock and John Fanvid  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqn1nXHyM4c&feature=youtu.be

The next morning when John finally woke up, he was surprised that he had slept so late for it was at least 10 A.M. “I must be getting lazy,” John thought as he rolled over and then the previous night came back to him in a rush and John’s light feeling went away as he remembered the look on Sherlock’s face when he had run out of the bedroom. “Well, I don’t blame him,” John thought in self-pity, “for most people wouldn’t want to be seen with a cripple, let alone go to bed with one. Pain, I’m in pain,” John thought as he reached for his prescription pain killers. He struggled a few moments for the bottle was just beyond his grasp and then just as his fingers made contact with it, he lost his balance and fell out of bed with a loud thump.

Sherlock came rushing into the room. “John, are you alright? You should have called me,” he said as he picked John up and deposited him in the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you,” John mumbled.in embarrassment, for he wished the ground would swallow him whole because the next item on his agenda was the bathroom. “Sherlock, can you take me to the bathroom?”

Sherlock nodded silently, then he took John to the bathroom, waited for him to finish, helped him get dressed and so it was that about a half hour later that they sat facing each other across the kitchen table. John studied Sherlock, he was neatly dressed, and nothing was out of place, except for a slight dab of shaving cream on his jaw. “Sherlock, you have a dab of shaving cream on your jaw.”

Sherlock brushed at his face and after a few unsuccessful attempts to remove it, John wheeled over and wiped the shaving cream off, letting his fingers linger a bit longer than necessary, he then wheeled away before Sherlock could say, “Thank you.” John looked at the plate of food before him, played with it a few moments and then without a word he wheeled himself into the sitting room. John could hear Sherlock walking behind him, but he didn’t acknowledge him, as he rolled towards the window and looked out at the hub of activity outside.  People, cabs, buses, all hurried by without the slightest regard for the young man in the wheel chair that sadly watched their progress. “Don’t hurry too much,” John thought in silent warning.

Sherlock came around and blocked John’s view of the outside world, “John, um…about last night. I mean it wasn’t you…it was me…it’s just that I wasn’t prepared for a physical…a physical union.”

John leaned over the back of the wheelchair and looked up at Sherlock, “Sherlock, it’s okay…I’m not exactly…an object of desire…”

Sherlock sighed heavily and then wheeled John around to face him, “John…it’s not that, it’s just that I don’t have a lot of experience in well you know…the bedroom.”

John looked up into Sherlock’s red face and said, “Sherlock, are you trying to tell me that you haven’t…you haven’t been close to a man?”

Sherlock looked down avoiding John’s dark, blue eyes, “No, I haven’t, I mean not really.”

John laid his hand lightly on Sherlock’s arm, “Then how do you know that you like them, men I mean and what about Nina?”

Sherlock paced back and forth and said quickly, as if ripping off a band aid, “Nina and I had an arrangement. We were to be married, so that her family would get off her back about remaining single and in turn she would fund all my experiments and so forth.  It was to be a marriage of convenience, and as far as men go, I have always been attracted to my same sex, but other than the typical boy’s boarding school curiosity, I have not had a relationship…with a…man. You see before I met you, my work was my life.” 

John looked up into Sherlock’s shinning eyes, “So does that mean that you’re a vir…”  The rest of his sentence was cut off by a shrieking tea kettle.

Sherlock ran across the room to turn the burner off and then came and stood before John. He looked down and then up and said, “Yes.”

John swallowed, “I don’t understand, you have an international reputation as a detective, a playboy, so how can you be a…”

Sherlock cut him off, “John, I need hardly remind you that you are a Doctor, so please reference your knowledge of human intimacy and then please let’s change the subject.”

John opened his mouth to say something, but then changed his mind and snapped his lips shut as Sherlock wheeled him into another room filled with easels, each held a painting covered by canvas. One by one Sherlock ripped the protective coverings off each work of art as he faced them toward the light.

“John, I want you to see the paintings that are going up in my art exhibition next week.”  Sherlock said as he excitedly pushed John before each painting. “You’ve already seen the one I painted of you and my Grandma, but now I would like you to see the rest of my works.”

“How can he switch gears so quickly?” John thought as Sherlock rambled on about his creative process of painting. “Doesn’t he care about my feelings at all? Do I not arouse him, please him, and titillate him? Oh, God worse yet, do I bore him?” John thought in despair.

The first painting was an abstract, all the colors were dark, the brush strokes violent and even though John couldn’t make out a specific person or place, the painting was full of anger and sadness. Noting John’s expression, Sherlock spoke, “That one was done after I thought you had stood me up and I’m pretty sure I was drunk.”

John once more stared at the blackness of the painting and moved on to the next work, the first paintings were all abstracts, radiating the same type of despair and brooding as the other works. Gradually, the paintings became lighter, and abstract turned into form and form turned into the individual shapes of people, places and things. It was the last painting that commanded John’s attention, the colors were all pastel, but the viewer need not be deceived by the light spring tones, for the painting was brimming over with passion. The focal point was a naked man on a stone alter, he was on his back, his legs, spread, his eyes closed, mouth open, a light covering over his lower regions and over him stood another man, his back to the viewer, his bare buttocks, tense, as his muscular hand hesitantly reached for the other man’s covering and even though the viewer could not see the man’s face as he reached out to the man lying on the alter, Sherlock’s painting managed to convey the man’s lust, fear, his longing for the human object of arousal that lay helpless in front of him.

John swallowed as he clasped his shaking hands in his lap, thinking about how wrong he was about Sherlock’s character, for he was not just a genius, a human calculator, a cold sociopath, he was a man.


	12. Sherlock and the Case of John Watson

“John, how’s the research going?” Sherlock asked as he leaned over John’s shoulder to look at the computer screen.

John shook his head in frustration, at not being able to obtain the information Sherlock wanted as well as the closeness of his proximity for he could feel Sherlock’s body heat and John became so overwhelmed by the stimulus that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as he self-consciously rubbed the base of his skull.

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock asked in concern when he noticed John rubbing, and then scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m fine,” John snapped wondering when it was time to take another pain pill.

Unconvinced, Sherlock gently moved John’s hand away as his long fingers explored the red marks on the back of John’s neck. John sat stock still, willing his body not to respond to Sherlock’s touch. “John, what shampoo are you using?” Sherlock asked as he moved John’s neck to the light where he could examine the little red welts that were starting to crop up on his skin.

When Sherlock began to part John’s hair for further examination, John wheeled out of his grasp. “Sherlock, I’m fine let’s get back to the case.”

Sherlock looked bewildered as he walked across the room to where John sat, “John, I think you are having a reaction to the shampoo you’re using. Next time we wash your hair, I should use something with a tea tree base. Yes, yes that should do it.” Sherlock said in triumph as he smiled at John.

John suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe when Sherlock smiled at him. “Sherlock, let’s change the subject okay?”

Sherlock looked a little confused, shrugged and then his face lit up, “John, that’s it. What kind of wood are cuckoo clocks made of?” Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock rambled on, “Linden wood-Linden-Linden, why does that name sound so familiar? Linden-Linden, oh yes that must be it the Linden Case. John, do an internet search for the Linden Case, check November 2013.”

John wheeled over and angrily tapped out the internet search on the computer keyboard, at one point he hit one of the keys so hard that it popped up and wobbled to the side of its usual position. “Here it is, the Linden Case,” John said flatly as Sherlock began to read over his shoulder.

John couldn’t take any more, “Sherlock, I’m tired I’m going to take a nap.” He said and then without another word wheeled out of the room, all the while swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat, for Sherlock hadn’t even noticed his departure. The room was cold and John shivered as he wheeled over towards the adjustable bed that Sherlock had bought so that John could maneuver himself in and out of it if he needed to. Every bone in John’s body ached as he slid out a side panel from his wheelchair, and then a few herculean movements later he was in bed lying down. “Damn,” John thought as he stuck a pill in his mouth, “there’s no water in my glass.” Not wanting to go through the process of getting in and out of bed again, John bit down and just chewed the pill up, grimacing at its sour taste as it burned its way down his throat.

Waiting for the nausea to pass John finally began to feel the effects of the pill and smiled as he gave in to the relief he felt when it took the edge off. Hours later Sherlock slipped in beside him but John kept his eyes squeezed shut for he didn’t want to face him.

“John, I know you’re not asleep and we’re narrowing down the suspects. So …so are you up to doing some sleuthing with me tomorrow?” Sherlock asked as he leaned his head over John’s shoulder.

John rolled over to look at Sherlock and thought that Sherlock must either be the cruelest or the most naïve person not to realize the passion he aroused in John with just one glance. Sherlock furrowed his brows together, “John, your pajama top it’s…misshapen…the buttons are all wrong,” Sherlock said as he reached out unbuttoned John’s pajama top, lined up the buttons with their respecting button holes and proceeded to button them one by one. At one point Sherlock hesitantly reached a finger in through an opening and lightly touched John’s chest rubbing his finger over John’s sternum until he gasped and rolled out of the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Like a frightened animal Sherlock scrambled up off the floor and fled the room.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” John thought, “What have I done to deserve this?”

The next day Sherlock acted as if nothing had happened; however there was a wiry tension in his walk that John hadn’t noticed previously for his normally graceful movements were rigid with a spasmodic jerk in his limbs now and then. “He’s under great stress,” John thought and then swallowed as his mouth became dry. “Oh God, he wants to leave me,” John surmised in a panic. “Well, I won’t make it easy on him.” John thought angrily as he folded his arms across his chest.

John was about to make small talk when to his relief Mrs. Hudson announced that a potential client was waiting to come up. Sherlock nodded curtly, “Send her up.”

The client was a beautiful tall Asian woman that John instantly admired, as if she read his mind she smiled back at him and winked after she briefly introduced herself to Sherlock. She then walked across the room to where John sat.

“Well, who’s this?” She asked as she leaned in towards John’s face her skin smelt like Jasmine and his eyes widened when she slowly licked her lips.

Sherlock was across the room in an instant, “That’s Doctor Watson, my husband,” he said as he laid a possessive hand on John’s shoulder.

“He’s jealous,” John thought gleefully as he shamelessly began to flirt with the woman. She laughed at everything he said until John realized that it must be out of pity because of the chair. Instantly, John retreated back in his shell as he replied to an especially salacious remark. “That might be difficult seeming I’m in a wheel chair, it’s not very sexy the chair…I mean.”

The woman’s dark eyes glittered in challenge for she was clearly enjoying the fact that Sherlock had gotten up and had begun to pace the room. “Doctor Watson, or may I call you John? I am very limber and I’m sure that with a little persuasion I could stick my…”

“ENOUGH, Get out, I’m not taking your case…we’re not taking your case.” Sherlock shouted as he pointed to the exit.

The woman pouted, “Oh, no have I offended you? My case is about a severed head that I found in…”

At the words severed head, Sherlock looked up with interest and then sighed, “Please, leave.”

The woman sighed, walked over to John, and handed him a business card that smelt wonderful, “Doctor, please let me know if you make house calls.” She whispered as her fingers lingered on the back of his neck.

“He doesn’t,” Sherlock snapped.

“Too bad,” the woman drooled.

After she left John sighed and said casually, “Well, she seemed nice and the case sounded just right up your alley.”

Sherlock paced back and forth like a caged animal, clearly agitated. “She was lying.”

John frowned. “Well, I know one thing she was definitely attracted to me. It’s nice to know I am still desirable to someone.” John snapped spitefully.

Sherlock held very still and then in two steps he was across the room. Keeling in front of John, Sherlock gritted his teeth and then said in a low voice. “John, my art exhibit concluded two days ago, and it was successful by the way. The cuckoo clock case has been handed over to an inferior colleague, so that I will be able to prepare for my next case. I would like to have studied the details a bit more, but no matter I can see it needs to be attended to immediately.” Sherlock said as he pulled the brakes forward on John’s wheelchair so hard that the metal sliced into the rubber. In one move Sherlock lifted John out of the chair and said, “John Hamish Watson I am sick of you mooning about how unattractive you are for tonight you will forget about everything and everyone,” Sherlock said as he breathlessly carried John to the bedroom and deposited him on the bed. He then straddled himself over John’s body and looked deeply into his shocked eyes.

“John, my entire focus will be on you and do you know why?” Sherlock whispered as he unbuttoned his shirt. John shook his head mutely. “My focus will be entirely on you John Hamish Watson for tonight you are my case. Whatever it takes to solve you, thrill you, arouse you, whatever undoes you, whatever makes you scream in ecstasy, John that is my goal and I never lose my train of concentration,” Sherlock said softly as he undid the buttons of John’s shirt. He then reached over and turned on a small lamp by the bed, so that he could observe every expression on John’s face. He then slid in the bed next to the love of his life, sliding his hands over John’s skin until his mouth opened as he gasped for air and Sherlock marveled at the power one individual could have over another. He marveled at how John leaned into his touch. He marveled at how he was suddenly unafraid of physical intimacy as John’s hands and mouth explored his body, but most of all he marveled at the joy he felt when John became part of him, clinging to him, thrusting into him, holding him, until Sherlock’s eyes became as round as saucers as he watched John writhe in pleasure underneath him and then without warning a hurricane of sensations came at Sherlock so fast that he couldn’t analyze or compute them and then John reveled when Sherlock arched his back and screamed out begging John for release.


	13. Inside Out and Outside In

John lay in Sherlock’s arms, in a state of post-coital bliss, the sun had just come up and Sherlock reached over and turned off the lamp on the night side table as he gently ran his long fingers over John’s chest, lightly touching his skin only pausing to rub his thumbs on multiple parts of John’s neck, his sternum and then Sherlock moved his hands slightly to the right and slightly to the left, making circular motions until John put his hands around Sherlock’s waist and squeezed. Sherlock smiled as he straddled his body over John’s, shifting his weight to his knees so as not to make John uncomfortable. “Good Morning, John Watson,” Sherlock said letting John absorb the low dulcet tones of his voice as well as the tactile sensations from his roaming fingers.

“Good Morning, Sherlock, have I told you how much I love you?” John asked softly as he rubbed the back of Sherlock’s neck until the hairs on his arm stood on end.

Sherlock chuckled as he massaged John’s shoulders, “Yes, twelve and a half times to be exact.”

John’s eyes began to tear up as he pulled Sherlock’s head down so he could kiss him. “Sherlock, I owe you so much. I was so alone before I met you and…” John’s voice trailed off in a gasp as a spasm of pain rippled through the muscles of his lower back.

Sherlock instantly pulled away, “John, are you okay? Do you need a pain pill? Were our activities too much for you last night, this morning….”

John interrupted Sherlock with a wave of his hand, “Yes, I need a pain pill and no it wasn’t from last night, it’s just a normal day for me, not to worry the pain isn’t that bad. I just need to take the edge off.” John said reassuringly.

Sherlock peered at John as if he were an insect under a microscope, “You say that the pain…isn’t that bad…. No, by my calculations you are in pain 86.5 percent of the time.” Sherlock smiled, pleased with himself for figuring out the answer so quickly and then the ramification of his deduction hit him full force and Sherlock felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

John pulled at Sherlock’s arm as he tried to pull away, “Sherlock, don’t retreat within yourself, there are some biscuits in the nightstand drawer as well as my pills. Get me a glass of water and then come straight back here. Sherlock, are you listening?” John asked firmly.

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, bounded off the bed and a few moments later he came back with a glass, which he handed over to John, watching every move John made until John sighed, “Sherlock, I’m fine, let’s get a bath and we will feel better. I promise,” John said as he gripped Sherlock’s ice cold hand.

Sherlock slid out of John’s grasp and went to run a bath for the two of them. When he came back John noted the red splotches on Sherlock’s face, the red-rimmed eyes that stared back at him making John gasp at the power they had over one another, for Sherlock the machine had been crying. John swallowed and then grinned, “Did you put bubbles in the bath?” He asked suggestively.

Sherlock sniffed and then picked up John as if he weighed nothing, “John, I put bubbles in the water and also a rubber ducky.”

Sherlock put John in the bath first and then slid in behind him. “God, this is heaven,” John thought as Sherlock washed his back and then squeezed out the warm water on his neck. “That feels so good, thank you.” John said as he reached up for Sherlock’s hand. They sat in the bath for at least an hour relaxing in silence until John stirred, “Sherlock, I’m shriveling up to nothing.”

Sherlock moved his hand through the waning bubbles, looked down just below John’s pelvis and said, “Well, apparently not everything.”

John laughed, “Come on, get me out of here.” When Sherlock rose up from the bath, John swallowed for he truly looked beautiful, the water running down his white thighs, catching in places here and there until John’s hands shook with desire for his Greek water god.

As Sherlock wrapped John in a towel, with the intention of drying him off, John shook his head and whispered, “No, Sherlock don’t dry me off, take me to bed, and make love to me for I want to feel your wet skin against mine.”

Sherlock looked down at John as he lay in the wet sheets, his hair clung tightly to his ears, rivulets of water ran down his neck and soaked the pillow, and Sherlock felt light headed as his moist skin touched John’s. He paused for a moment in an effort to keep his hands from shaking and John smiled, that sweet smile that had made Sherlock’s heart stop on the ship where they first met. “John, I’m scared,” Sherlock said breathlessly as John entwined his legs around Sherlock’s waist.

“Sherlock, everything is going to be fine,” John said as he gently coaxed Sherlock’s tense body into a state of arousal with his hands, his legs and his mouth, until they were both inside out and outside in, until they were one. 


	14. The Black Orchid

Sherlock was only listening to Lestrade, with half of his phenomenal attention span, “Something about cruise ship murders, blah, blah, blah, boring,” Sherlock thought as he continued to watch John-his distraction. John had just wheeled over to the window and was attempting to grab his laptop, the laptop was just out of reach and Sherlock inwardly gasped when John’s shirt crept up revealing a small area of white flesh just below his ribs. His groin reacted immediately, coiling up tightly at the glimpse of John’s skin. Sherlock shifted in his chair and was about to order everyone out of the room when Mrs. Hudson gently nudged his leg causing it to jerk and then hit the ground.

“Sherlock, this case sounds just right up your alley, doesn’t it dear?” Mrs. Hudson said firmly, jolting Sherlock’s attention back to Lestrade.

Sherlock swallowed as he forced himself to drag his gaze away from John’s wriggling bare toes. He then looked over at Lestrade and said in a bored monotone voice; only John heard the slight tremor that made his normally dulcet tone slightly off key, “Murders aboard the cruise line that I met John on? Sounds boring, but I guess it would be a chance to go away.”

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Yes, like a honeymoon.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to verbally take Mrs. Hudson down a few pegs wrapped up in a sarcastic reply, when he noticed John as he moved his foot around in a suggestive circular motion. “God,” Sherlock thought as he just sat there transfixed by the motions that John was making.

Lestrade cleared his throat, “Well, thanks for taking the case, Sherlock; it’s for a close friend he wanted it handled discretely so I wanted the best, the best detective. Well, I’ll e mail you the details…” Lestrade waited for an acknowledgement from Sherlock and after a few moments of silence he cleared his throat again as he said, “Right, then I’ll see you later.”

After Lestrade left Mrs. Hudson puttered around the room endlessly chattering about how romantic cruise ships were until Sherlock couldn’t take any more, “Mrs. Hudson.”

She stopped and smiled at Sherlock, “Yes, dear?”

Sherlock turned in her direction and then snapped, “Get out.”

Once she was gone John looked over at Sherlock, “Sherlock that was awfully rude of you.”

Sherlock crooked his finger beckoning John to his side, John smiled and wheeled over, causing a physical pain in Sherlock’s chest as he noticed the effort it took to line his chair up in front of his own. John frowned when he saw Sherlock’s laptop pressed firmly against his middle.   
“Sherlock, laptops give off radiation, you should really…”John’s voice trailed off when Sherlock lifted up the laptop revealing what was underneath. “Oh, I see,” John said wickedly as he reached for Sherlock’s waist.

“No, don’t,” Sherlock said as he twisted away from John’s grasp. “Just let me go to the bathroom and…”

“Sherlock, what is it?” John asked softly.

Sherlock’s face turned red and then he said in a childlike voice, “I’m already two steps ahead of you…I mean that…I just don’t want you to see…”

“Sssh,” John said as he undid the top button of Sherlock’s trousers.

“John, I’m just a little embarrassed,” Sherlock said miserably.

John nodded, “Sherlock, I know that took a lot for you to admit, but I’m a Doctor, remember? Sherlock, I’m your Doctor. Now hook your legs across each arm of the chair and scoot down a little.” John said as he reached forward to work Sherlock’s pants down. When John touched him Sherlock flinched making John pause in his ministrations, “Sherlock, are my hands too cold?” John asked softly.

“No,” Sherlock replied through clenched teeth.

John smiled enveloping Sherlock in the oceanic depths of his blue eyes as he kissed the shivering muscles of Sherlock’s stomach and as John’s cool lips moved downwards Sherlock entwined his fingers in John hair whimpering when the oral stimulation threatened to overwhelm him.

A few days later and Sherlock was pushing John up a wheelchair ramp to the ship, his eyes flashing angrily at anyone who attempted to ogle at them with pity or curiosity. Once they were in their state room Sherlock helped John into the double bed and then took him in his arms as they reviewed the facts of the case.

“Four murders and two disappearances on this cruise line, all different genders, all different ages, all different races, all different socio-economic backgrounds. The only thing they have in common is that a black orchid was sent to each of their staterooms shortly before they were murdered or had disappeared.” Sherlock mused aloud as he drummed his fingers on his laptop and then he stopped for this case did have similarities to another case that Sherlock had solved. “Could this be a copycat?” Sherlock thought as he looked down at John’s blonde hair fear clutching at his heart, for the case could be dangerous and,” John was helpless in that wretched chair,” Sherlock thought bitterly.

 

 


	15. Rear Window

Sherlock struggled to keep his balance as he lifted John from his wheelchair to a deck recliner. “John, I think you’ve put on a few,” Sherlock said as he flopped down on a recliner beside John’s.

John laughed as Sherlock took his hand and kissed it. Though Sherlock had meant to let go of John’s hand after the brief kiss he clung as tightly to it as he did the vision of John leaning back in the recliner and for a moment it seemed as if John had not been injured. He was just a man holding his husband’s hand on a pleasure cruise. John felt relaxed, relatively free of pain and as the sun shone on his face he closed his eyes. The last thing John heard before he fell asleep was the chattering of happy passengers and the sound of the ocean as it swirled around the ship’s hull.

Sherlock lay back and held John’s hand until it became heavy with sleep and dropped out of his grasp, dangling limply towards the deck.  Then for the rest of the morning and into mid-afternoon Sherlock watched John sleep until the light shifted to the other side of the ship leaving them both in semi darkness. Sherlock shivered now that the warmth of the sun had left them but not for a moment did he leave John’s side. Motioning for a ship employee Sherlock asked for a blanket for he could tell John was cold from the way he laid curled up in a ball.

A few moments later Sherlock gently laid the heated blanket over John and smiled when he saw chill bumps come up on John’s arms. “That feels so good,” John murmured as he slowly opened his eyes.  The sun was just beginning to set and John pulled the blanket under his chin as he looked over at Sherlock, “Sherlock, I’ve slept the whole day away. You didn’t stay here the whole time did you?” When Sherlock didn’t answer John sighed, “Sherlock, you must be hungry and most likely have to go to the loo by now.”

Sherlock looked over at John, his breath catching in his throat and his voice crackling from disuse, “I’m not hungry, but I do have to pee.”

John yawned and stretched, “Me too.”

After loading John into the wheelchair Sherlock pushed him back to their cabin, pausing outside the ballroom where couples danced hand in hand and he couldn’t help but remember when he and John had danced in each other’s arms on the last cruise they had taken.

John pulled at Sherlock’s sleeve, “Sherlock, why don’t you go dancing? I know how you love it so.”

Sherlock smiled down at John and said, “Dancing’s boring.”

John smiled up at Sherlock sadly for they both knew he was lying. “Sherlock loved to dance, loved to run, loved to play,” John thought, “And he’s stuck with a cripple.”

As if sensing John’s thoughts Sherlock laid a warm hand on the back of John’s neck, “There is no music, without you John, therefore there is no dancing.”

Once they were back in their cabin and had both peed like racehorses, they ordered room service. While they were waiting for their food Sherlock looked over at John with a troubled frown, “John, I think I may have to go undercover, for everyone knows who we are, so I doubt whether our criminal will show his or her face. I’ve ran it by our client and he thinks it is a marvelous idea. However, it would mean that you would be alone in the cabin, for I would have to bunk with the crew.”

John looked quizzically at Sherlock and said, “Sherlock, do what you must, this cabin is geared towards the handicapped, I’ll be lonely but quite comfortable.”

“John, don’t refer to yourself as handicapped,” Sherlock snapped.

John rolled his eyes for they had argued about this before, “Okay, fine, I have mobility issues. Let’s not fight, okay?”

Sherlock was coiled and ready for a fight but when he looked into John’s face, his sweet face, Sherlock’s anger melted away.  “I’m just not comfortable leaving you alone with a killer on the loose.”

“It will be fine Sherlock; I’ll be like Jimmy Stewart in, ‘Rear Window’.” John said jauntily.

Sherlock frowned, “What is ‘Rear Window’, some kind of sex act?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

John laughed until the tears rolled down his face, “No, it’s a movie about a guy who is stuck in a wheelchair and he witnesses a murder. It’s a famous movie by Alfred Hitchcock.”

Sherlock glanced at John, “Who? I must say John that if you’re feeling aroused just tell me enough with the metaphors, ‘Rear Window’, Hitchcock, etc.”

John sighed and said, “Aww, Sherlock what am I going to do with you?”

Sherlock grinned back. “Let’s ponder the ‘Rear Window’ aspect,” He said in that low dulcet toned voice that drove John crazy.

 

 

 

 


	16. Doing Something

John lay in bed his head propped up on one elbow as he watched Sherlock prepare to leave the ship as a painter, detective and lover, only to remerge as a steward, a uniform that would make Sherlock’s presence anonymous, for very few individuals noticed a person in uniform. Sherlock stood in front of a mirror naked, and John admired every inch, trying to ignore the thrill of electricity that jolted through his groin at the sight of Sherlock, putting on socks, underwear, shirt, pants, and finally shoes. Grinning when he saw John openly staring, Sherlock smiled and winked at John’s reflection in the mirror.

Sherlock had meant to leave shortly after he was dressed but as he smiled at John, Sherlock’s grin faded, replaced by a need so great that he felt as if his knees were made of a watery unstable substance. Whipping around to face John instead of looking at him in the mirror, Sherlock began to tear off his clothes, heedless of the fact that the shirt was an Armani; Sherlock ripped it off and tossed it into the corner. When he had disrobed Sherlock dove under the covers grateful that John was already naked. For a moment, Sherlock was so desperate for the consummation process to begin that he was heedless of John’s comfort.  Roughly, he wrapped his legs around John’s waist and then like an acrobat act at the circus he gripped John’s body with his knees, until their positions were reversed. Once John’s body was hovering over the top of him, Sherlock let gravity take over, which allowed John to glide down slowly against Sherlock’s jack knifed knees until like a baseball player he slid into base. Once Sherlock knew that his penetration of John was imminent he slowed his motions, allowing he and John to balance with each other like participants on a teeter totter, one up, one down until..until… Sherlock’s thought went unfinished for by this time every idea in his mind palace jumbled around like marbles rolling down a slanted surface; until one by one they were gone replaced by incoherent gasps, groans and growls.

When John finally feel asleep, Sherlock snuck out from underneath his arms and went in the bathroom and wept as he took a shower, for intimacy with John always eroded his self-control, and he couldn’t figure why John would ever want to be with a person such as himself, it just didn’t mathematically make sense.

After he got dressed, Sherlock walked over to the bed and gently kissed John on the lips, like a happy child, John smiled in his sleep and then rolled over totally contented. “My totally innocent Doctor,” Sherlock thought as he quietly left their cabin.

When John woke up Sherlock was gone, no note nothing, just the faint smell of him on the sheets and John was reluctant to take a shower for he could still smell Sherlock’s scent on his skin. After a long, lonely shower and a room service dinner, John wheeled himself out on the deck, thinking that the company of other people would cheer him. He was wrong, for their happy bantering, only made John feel lonelier. John sighed and wheeled himself over to a dimly lit part of the deck. The salt in the cold sea air bit at his skin, making John wish that he had put on a pair of gloves before venturing out. He brushed a sea frizzed strand of hair out of his eyes and was just about to head back to the cabin when he heard low voices arguing. Though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, their tone was definitely agitated. Silently, wheeling forward, thankful that Sherlock had oiled away the annoying squeak from the chair’s wheels, John rolled closer to the voices.

“For God’s sake, Georgia how was I supposed to know they weren’t insured?” A man’s voice whined.

“Ssh, do you want the whole ship to hear you?” A woman’s voice hissed back.

John strained his ears to hear more, but the woman was definitely spooked.

“Come on, it’s not safe to talk here,” the woman said quietly.

A few moments later, John was alone again, wondering how he was going to find out whom the voices belonged to and even though he knew he was a sitting target, John was excited for he was finally going to be doing something, he was not just going to waste away in that stupid chair.

 


	17. The "A" List

The next day, John determined he would somehow find the couple that he had overheard last night, for the sooner the case was solved the sooner Sherlock would be by his side again. John looked around him in frustration wondering if any of the passing crewmembers were Sherlock; however they had both agreed that Sherlock wouldn’t contact John on the ship unless it was an emergency. If such an occasion arose, John would order a Brandy Alexander Cocktail from room service with extra nutmeg. It was tempting to wheel back to their cabin immediately and order said drink; however Sherlock would be quite cross.

“Maybe, he would punish me,” John thought as he let his imagination run wild.

“Doctor Watson, is that you?” A clipped posh man’s accent asked.

John whirled around with dread for the last thing he wanted to do was to see someone from his past especially the snub nosed man that stood in from of him.

“I say, it is you Watson, old boy, how are you?” Without waiting for an answer he carried on, “I say, I heard about your accident, bloody awful business that but on the upside I heard you got married to Sherlock Holmes, so I supposed congratulations are in order. I must say it came as a surprise you marrying, a man that is, for I hadn’t the foggiest notion that you were gay.”

John wheeled his chair in front of the man and said, “I’m not gay.”

The man frowned, “But the marriage and all what was it for, then?”

John knew it was a wicked thing to say but he said it none the less, “Whatever do you mean?”

The man obviously flustered stammered, “Well, I mean you know…”

John smiled, “Aw, you mean sex, right?”

The man was horrified at the hornet’s nest he had unearthed as he desperately looked around him for an escape route.

John blocked his exit, enjoying the man’s dilemma, “As I recall your name is Teddy, correct?”

Teddy relieved that the conversation might be heading towards safer waters he nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, Yes quite right.”

“Well,” John said smoothly, “Teddy, I don’t consider myself gay and neither does Sherlock, you see we fell in love with each other as individuals, nothing about the two of us was gender inspired; however the sex is marvelous, fireworks every time, if you know what I mean. Teddy, old boy I highly recommend it.”

Teddy was blushing furiously as he avoided John’s gaze, “I say I didn’t mean to offend Watson, old boy. Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you join us at the Captain’s table, you know the “A” list?”

John knew all right, he knew all about the “A” list and their frantic attempts to stay on top; however if he were going to find out about the couple that he had overheard the night before, the Captain’s table would be the place to garner information.

Later on that evening, John slipped on his white, dinner jacket, trying to ignore the memory of Sherlock watching him in admiration the last time he had worn it. “Come, on Watson, time to do battle,” John said aloud as he wheeled himself out of the cabin and down to the dining room.

The Captain’s table was as boring as John thought it was going to be for it was a bid to see who or whom could come up with the best vacation home, the best car, the best prep schools for their children, and of course when all else failed patronizing the staff was great fun. Nothing overtly rude was said; however with a curl of a lip and a ‘Please, bring me another brandy,’ the speaker made it clear that the worker was just a cog in the wheel of society and nothing more. To fit in John badgered the staff about the food, lamented over the lack of choice on the wine menu, asking for expensive old vintages that were out of the cruise line’s reach.

Sherlock inspected the kitchen and the staff, once he was satisfied; he was just about to leave when a young waiter came into the kitchen and slammed his serving tray down on the counter.

“I swear if that condescending prick, says one more derogatory thing,” The waiter trailed off when he saw Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned, “Hmm, the Captain’s table can be quite trying, so why don’t you take a break? Oh, and by the way, who is the condescending prick?”

The waiter sighed as he grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. “John Frigging Watson, oh excuse me. Doctor John Frigging Watson.” He said in a perfect imitation of John’s posh voice.

Sherlock frowned; for this type of behavior wasn’t like John at all. “What are you up to, John?” Sherlock thought uneasily.

 

 


	18. The Best Room Service Ever

Another mind numbing dinner at the Captain’s table made John want to wheel his chair into the sea.

“I say, what do you think, Watson?” Teddy’s voice bored into John’s consciousness like a horrible thorn in his shoe.

“What?” John snapped.

Before Teddy could reply a smooth velvety sounding voice interrupted him, “Oh, Teddy do quit going on. Can’t you see the poor man is bored to death?”

John wheeled around to look at his savior, and was not surprised to find that she was gorgeous. Long auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders and her smoky green eyes smoldered with amusement when John’s faced flushed at her assessment of him. “Doctor Watson, isn’t it?” She purred.

John nodded mutely.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t mind if I call you John.” Without waiting for a reply she continued on. “My name is Laura,” she whispered.

John smiled and thought to himself, “Of course it is.”

The woman poked her long finger into the man’s shoulder to the other side of her, “Devin, Devin, DEVIN?”

The young man turned around and scowled at Laura, “What is it puss?”

Laura rolled her eyes, “Devin, you know how I hate that nick name. Now pay attention for our dear Doctor Watson is bored.  So, why don’t we relieve his ennui and let him play our little game?”

Devin appraised John as if seeing him for the first time and after a few moments said, “I say, that is intriguing, p..Laura.”

Laura leaned forward and put her hand on John’s arm, letting it linger there for far too long, “John, you are going to love our little game. I’ll come by for you around midnight,” she said as she ran her index finger over John’s lower lip. “That husband of yours is a fool for leaving you unattended for if you were mine I wouldn’t let you up for air.” Satisfied with John’s shocked expression, she smirked, took Devin’s arm and then the two of them slinked out of the dining room like a couple of Siamese Cats.

Back in his cabin, John looked through his clothing to pick out what he was going to wear for the game that night, pausing only to hold one of Sherlock’s shirts to his face as he breathed in Sherlock’s faint scent upon its fibers. A light tap on the door made John jump and the shirt fluttered to the ground as he wheeled over to the door, and asked who it was.

“Room Service,” a nasal voice intoned.

John scratched his head, for he was pretty sure that he hadn’t ordered room service, however he shrugged and then pulled open the door. A tall steward entered the room, his hair slicked down, peppered with gray, his long face reminded John of a weasel, his thick black glasses accentuated the weasel effect by making his eyes look round and beady. The steward wheeled a cart across the room and then the realization hit him, for the steward was none other than Sherlock. However, John decided to play dumb for a few moments.

“Hmm, I don’t remember ordering any room service, but please wheel it over in the corner,” John said as he pointed.

John then smiled and said, “My you are a handsome fellow, what is your name?”

Sherlock’s beady eyes narrowed, but he decided to play the game as well, “My name is Fernando. I am from Spain.”

John was openly laughing by this time, “Fernando, come and sit on my lap, tell me about yourself.”

Sherlock came forward and sat on John’s lap leaning back against his chest. “My but you are a big boy aren’t you?” John said as he kissed Sherlock’s neck.

“Yes, I’m a bullfighter,” Sherlock whispered in between gasps as John ran his fingers over Sherlock’s exposed neck.

John watched Sherlock’s transformation in fascination for the muscles in his long, white neck, constricted as John’s touch deepened.  No longer was Sherlock, the brilliant painter, detective, violinist, genius, he was a man desperate for his lover’s touch. Though John was just working his hands across Sherlock’s back, Sherlock whimpered as if in pain, when he felt John’s hands on his bare skin. By the time John worked his way around Sherlock’s waist to undo his trousers; Sherlock was unashamedly begging John to take him.

“John,” Sherlock sighed as he helped John into bed.

Though Sherlock was trying to be gentle, his attempts were clumsy as his shaking hands removed John’s clothing. Like an inexperienced lover Sherlock moved quickly, desperate to physically penetrate John.

“John,” Sherlock said as his body unwilling arched with need, his voice full of tension.

“He has to relax,” John thought and then he smiled inwardly for he knew what would do the trick.

John reached over and turned on his internet radio station, and as the sounds of Japanese music filled the air, John screamed out, “Oh God, oh God, take me, take me Fernando.”

Sherlock paused, his face red from effort, his breathing ragged, and then he looked down at John’s calm expression as his hands reached up and caressed Sherlock’s sweaty neck. The lamp from the bedside table illuminated John’s body as it waited for Sherlock, his knees relaxed, his legs opening up for Sherlock.

As Sherlock looked down at John’s legs and everything in between, he began to hyperventilate. But John was patient, his voice coaxing; working to pace Sherlock’s body to a tempo they would both enjoy and finally like the roots of a weed being ripped out of the dry earth Sherlock relaxed until him and John’s movements were fully synchronized.

Afterwards, Sherlock lay in John’s arms, wishing that they could make love non-stop for days on end, but his dinner break was over and he had to get back to the case.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked as Sherlock’s eyes teared up.

Sherlock nodded and then looked back at John and said softly, “That thing you did, calling me Fernando so that I would focus, that was brilliant.”

John smiled and replied, “I knew the way you were going that your performance was going to disappoint you, no longevity, you know poof gone.”

Sherlock laughed, marveling at how John could diffuse the awkwardness of any given situation. “John, who was that woman you were talking to at dinner?”

John sighed and recounted the events of the last few days, conveniently leaving out Laura’s flirtation.

When he finished Sherlock frowned, “John, I don’t like it; this is a dangerous killer we are dealing with.”

John crossed his eyes, putting the green olives from the tray that Sherlock had brought on the cart into his eye sockets.

Sherlock laughed openly and began to tickle John in effort to make the olives drop out, when John tightly screwed his eyes shut, Sherlock pinned him down gently and ate the olives one by one. Then Sherlock looked at John as he lay beneath him and Sherlock sighed as he began to kiss John.

John kissed him back and then pulled away, “Sherlock, umm if you keep this up you are going to exceed your dinner break.”

“I’ll take a cut in pay,” Sherlock replied huskily as he kissed John’s neck.

John sighed, pulling Sherlock into him. “Remind me to fill out your comment card, Fernando, for this is by far the best room service I have ever received,” John gasped as Sherlock accurately pinpointed his spot.


	19. St. James' Infirimary

John sat listening to “St. James Infirmary,” and as Hugh Laurie belted out the sad, seductive words, John couldn’t help thinking of a particular nasty autopsy he had performed while in medical school. It had been a supposedly accidental death, but John wasn’t convinced and so subsequently was haunted by the cold, white body of the woman that lay on the slab, for John’s findings were ignored due to the fact he was just a student. “Sherlock could have solved it,” John thought as he inwardly sighed.

“John? John Watson, what are you thinking?” Laura asked softly as she slid a perfectly manicured nail along John’s cheek, just hard enough to make an indentation but not puncture his skin.

John looked into her dark green eyes and flushed under her scrutiny, “I was just thinking about a case I had in medical school.”

Laura pulled down John’s lower lip with her thumb, letting it linger in just the right place. When John shifted uncomfortably Laura smiled, “It sounds deadly dull.”

Anxious to change the subject, John gestured towards Hugh, “He really is quite good, too good for cruise ship entertainment.”

Laura chuckled, “Do you see a full house John?”

John looked around realizing that the room only had a few people in it and all were dressed like some character out of a Fitzgerald novel. “I don’t understand, is this a private concert?”

Laura laughed outright and said, “Hugh owes me a favor. Are you impressed?”

John smiled, “Yes, very.”

The music had shifted into another sultry tune, “The Kiss of Fire.” Laura leaned back in a suggestive pose and lit a cigarette clearly enjoying John’s discomfort. “John do you believe that there is such a thing as a kiss of fire?”

John felt as if things were getting out of control and was just about to tell Laura to get to the point, when a clumsy waiter dropped a tray of glasses. The crash made John jump and he looked over at the poor waiter in sympathy, wheeling over to help him. The waiter shook his head and said in French, “No, no I am fine, sir.” John had reached down to help and when his hand touched the waiter’s he knew it was Sherlock. For a moment Sherlock’s green eyes met his, they burned with a promise of love, protection, passion and something else jealously, an all-consuming obsessive glance that made John weak in the knees.  Sherlock let his thumb linger on John’s index finger and then he got up in a profusion of apologies, cleaned up the mess and left.

“John a penny for your thoughts,” Laura whispered in his ear.

John cleared his throat anxious to find out what Laura getting at, beside the obvious of course, “Laura, perhaps you should tell me what this is all about?”

“John it’s a game. Life can be so dull and mundane, so our little group plays games to relieve the boredom and for money too.” Laura said softly, “If that interests you that is?”

John decided to play up his cover a bit, “God, I could do with some cash, Sherlock is used to a certain lifestyle and I haven’t the heart to tell him that we are going to be broke soon.”

Laura stuck out her bottom lip in sympathy, “Oh, you poor dear, mustn’t let Sherlock down, he may leave you if he were to become bored.”

“Just get to the point,” John snapped for his one of his biggest fears was that Sherlock would grow tired of him and leave.

“Well, we sort of hire ourselves out to gain information and to take things,” Laura said.

John frowned, “You mean you steal things and blackmail people?”

Laura looked shocked, “Oh dear me, John, blackmail, stealing, such ugly words, don’t you think?”

John sighed, tiring of the game already, plus he needed a pain pill, “What would you call it then?”

Laura took a long seductive drag on her cigarette, “Evening out the score, John, evening out the score.”

John looked off into the distance where Sherlock had been, a moist puddle of water from the shattered glasses still glittered as the lights from the stage caught it just right. “Fine, I’m in, but one thing you have to know, I won’t physically hurt anyone.”

Laura feigned surprise, “Why John you cut me to the quick. Do you honestly think I would physically hurt someone or kill them?”

John grinned as his eyes looked around the room to find the water spot on the floor he had observed a few moments ago after a fruitless search he said, “Oh, yes Laura I certainly do.”

“Well, then as soon as Hugh takes a break, I will reveal all,” Laura smirked.

John wheeled out of her reach, “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. Laura I am totally devoted to Sherlock.”

Laura looked surprised, “Oh John of course you are but John you of all people should know that variety is the spice of life.”

As the music came to an end John dreaded it, for he knew that he was approaching the point of no return. When the last chord had been played, its overtones still hung in the air, Hugh left the stage and looked at John pointedly as if to say, “Run, or it might just be you on the slab in St James’ Infirmary.” However, when John looked back at Hugh he was giving Laura a peck on the cheek and when John tried to catch his eye, Hugh ignored him and drifted out of the room, an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers like a tattered scarf.


	20. Desires

Laura fixed her bright eyes on John, as she licked her lips in anticipation. “John, how much would you give to be able to walk again?”

John fingered the place on his wrist that Sherlock had touched and without hesitation replied. “I would give anything to walk again.”

Laura smiled making her lips curl up in a joker-like grimace, “Good, there is a Doctor from Vienna that can make that happen for you.”

John angrily clutched the arm rests of his chair, “He doesn’t even know the extent of my injuries, so how can you even make such a guarantee?”

Laura laughed as she stuck out her foot and began to play with the foot rests of John’s chair, “John, I forwarded your medical records to him.”

John opened his mouth and was about to ask how and then sighed, partly in exasperation and partly in excitement at the thought of surprising Sherlock. “Fine, what do I have to do?”

Laura looked at John slyly, “The Doctor has a wife that has expensive taste, much like your Sherlock, and she is on this very cruise. She always wears a jade necklace and it is quite valuable. The Doctor has told me that the insurance payout on the theft of the missing necklace would be enough to settle his debts and cover your surgery. So, how about it John Watson do you want to run to Sherlock or wheel to him? Do you want to dance with Sherlock or watch from the sidelines? And when Sherlock makes love to you do you want to carry him to bed like a man or do you want to be carried like a helpless child to bed?”

John’s hands were starting to shake, partly in anger and partly in excitement at the prospect of walking again. “What do I have to do?” John asked as he clenched his hands in his lap.

Laura leaned back in satisfaction and lit a cigarette, “You will have to get close to her and then once that is achieved you will need to drug her or something and then take the necklace.”

John frowned, “How am I supposed to get close to her?”

Laura smirked. “John, you are an adorable package. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

John blushed and looked away and then back again, “What happens after I take the necklace and what if I get caught?”

Laura laughed. “Oh, John you are so cute. Even if you get caught, you will not be charged, for practically everyone on this planet owes me something.”

John shivered and didn’t doubt that Laura was correct. “I wonder if she’s the anti-Christ?” John thought as he looked into the seductive depths of her eyes. After a few moments John looked away and Laura laughed again.

“John, tomorrow I will give you the details of your game and you will also be initiated.” Laura said softly.

John swallowed, “What initiation?”

Laura rolled her eyes, “John, don’t worry it is just a formality there will be no bloodletting or sacrificing a goat.”

Later on that evening John lay in Sherlock’s arms both of them frustrated from Sherlock’s inability to perform. “That has never ever happened to me,” Sherlock said angrily as he took a long drag from his cigarette and blew smoke over the “Please do not smoke in the room,” sign.

John sighed, “Sherlock, it’s perfectly natural, it happens to every man sometime or other.”

Sherlock looked like a small child as he pouted and then hesitantly asked John, “Has it happened to you?”

John laughed and pulled Sherlock closer, “Yes, Sherlock it has. Now let me tell you about my meeting with Laura.”

After John had finished filling John in on the details Sherlock frowned, “So, what do you get out of the deal?”

John shifted his hip and grunted as if he were in pain and then turned his face away from Sherlock so as not to reveal the lie he was going to tell him. “I told Laura that you were a spend-thrift and that I needed the money.”

Sherlock nodded silently for he knew John was lying. “Fine, sounds interesting,” Sherlock replied flatly.

John rolled over and began massage Sherlock’s neck as the music of Fats Waller, “Ain’t Misbehaving”, filled the room. John began to hum along with the music, which Sherlock found utterly enchanting and before long Sherlock began to relax.

“Your kisses are worth waiting for, burrrh,” John sang and then began to play an imaginary set of drums.

By the time he was done Sherlock was laughing uncontrollably and then just like that Sherlock began to respond to John’s gentle touch. At first Sherlock fought against John’s attempts to arouse him for he was humiliated by his lack of performance earlier in the evening and then a familiar stirring in his groin made Sherlock’s heart beat faster, made his brow sweat, made the thoughts in his normally structured mind turn chaotic, made his body strain with need, as he felt the uncomfortable tension, soon to be replaced with mind-numbing desire, followed by a release so intense that Sherlock felt as if he were going to lose consciousness and then everything that was dry became moist and everything that hurt became whole as Sherlock shuttered in John’s arms.

 


	21. The Doctor's Wife-Elsa

John spotted the Doctor’s wife across the room, “God, she is stunning,” John thought as he observed her cool, blonde, Aryan looks. As John wheeled towards her, she fixed her cool gaze on John and John took a deep breath of surprise for there was something warm and vulnerable about her that he didn’t expect to encounter and when she smiled it softened her angular facial features.

“Hello, it’s Doctor John Watson, isn’t it?” She asked her voice just a tone above Sherlock’s own sweet low dulcet tones.

John’s face colored slightly, “Yes, and whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Elsa,” she said and held out a cool hand for John to shake.

John shook her hand quickly, noting how Elsa held his for a moment longer than necessary.

“So, aren’t you married to the famous Doctor Strauss?” John asked to keep things from getting too personal.

Elsa smiled and leaned forward and said, “Aren’t you married to the famous Sherlock Holmes?”

John laughed and said, “Touché.”

Elsa smiled again and said, “You are so much more pleasant than I expected you to be, Doctor Watson.”

John shrugged self-consciously, “Please call me John.”

Elsa laughed again and then her expression darkened as she said, “My but you are so charming. My husband would never allow anyone to drop the Doctor in his title.”

John frowned as he thought of Sherlock, for he didn’t want Sherlock to be jealous of his new acquaintance. Elsa took John’s darkening countenance as a reflection of her own relationship with her husband and without knowing it John’s concern had formed a bond between the two of them.

“I guess the two of us are married to great men, are we not?” Elsa said softly.

John nodded as her nuance found its mark, “Yes, yes we are,” John echoed.

“Come on, John let me buy you a drink,” Elsa said brightly in an attempt to banish the darkness that threatened to overwhelm them both. “Oh you do drink, don’t you?”

John smiled, “Oh, God, yes.”

So, a few drinks later, John and Elsa felt relaxed in one another’s company enough for Elsa to ask him about his accident. After John told her the details they both sat quietly drinking their pain away until Elsa finally spoke. “Ach, listen to us, how gloomy we both are. We are on the most luxurious cruise ship in the world, come let us enjoy ourselves.”

“Here, here,” John said as he downed another scotch. The song, “Isn’t it Romantic,” drifted across the room and Elsa hummed along with it as she smiled at John. “Come on, let’s dance,” Elsa laughed.

John looked down at the chair and pointed, “Umm, problem.”

Elsa laughed again and plopped herself in John’s lap, “There problem solved,” she giggled.

John twirled the chair around with Elsa in his lap, heedless of the stares they were attracting. After a few twirls John stopped and looked into Elsa’s blue eyes, “Elsa,” he said as she leaned in towards him, “I’m totally devoted to Sherlock.”

Elsa looked into John’s blue eyes and smiled sadly, “Of course you are, but does your devotion keep the fear of his leaving you someday from ripping at your sanity? Does your devotion outweigh the fact that he will someday tire of you and become B O R E D? Because that’s what happened to me, John, one day my dear sweet husband looked at me and saw someone ordinary and just like that he was bored with me. No amount of devotion on my part could re-kindle his interest; for once a brilliant mind like that becomes bored it moves on and never looks back. No, conscience, just cold logic and deduction, for it’s the next puzzle they crave not lap dog devotion.”

John frowned as Sherlock’s Grandmother’s words came back to him, ‘Sherlock is always attracted to the case he hasn’t solved, the art he hasn’t tried, the person he hasn’t met.’

Elsa disengaged herself from John’s lap and sighed. “I’m sorry, John, I seem to be bringing down the party.”

John shook his head, “No, not at all I think we just need some fresh air that’s all.”

Elsa smiled, brushed a tear from her eye and wheeled John to the deck of the ship, where they let the cold sea air refresh them. After a few moments of silence Elsa spoke, “I’m sure that Sherlock won’t become bored with you, John.”

John had long since stopped playing a role, as he said, “I’m not.”

Elsa leaned against the railing, the black waves of ocean crested and fell, as the jade necklace escaped the folds of her blouse. John’s eyes fixated on it for he had almost forgotten the reason why he was getting close to Elsa.

 

 

 


	22. Sea of Life, Sea of Death

John lay in his bed tossing and turning, lonely for Sherlock. Then the shrill ringing of his bedside phone made John jump. He shivered as the night air hit his sweat soaked body and for a moment he was confused about where he was.  Then John stared at the phone again and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” He asked sleepily.

“John, is that you?” A woman’s voice asked in a panic.

“Yes, who else would it be?” John snapped irritably.

“I’m sorry to call so late, but it’s me Elsa. I think I’m in trouble. I think someone is trying to kill me.” She whispered frantically. “John, can you meet me outside the bar where we had a drink?”

John sighed, “Fine, I’ll be right there, however, Elsa I not much of a protector these days.”

Elsa ignored the tone of self-pity in John’s voice, “John, hurry I’m frightened.” She said and then the phone went dead.

John wheeled over and put a coat on over his sweats and rolled up on the deck. They were definitely going through rough waters, for John had trouble keeping his wheelchair from careening wildly out of control. “Damn,” John swore as a cold, mist of ocean spray blew in his face. “Maybe, I should have contacted Sherlock,” John thought as he struggled to right himself. He had just about got things under control when a voice announced over the loud speaker.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are going through turbulent waters and we request that you stay off the main decks until we navigate through the storm.” The voice was pleasant as if announcing the time of day and John scowled up at the speaker in annoyance. He was just about to wheel back to his cabin, when he heard the faint sounds of Elton John singing, “Crocodile Rock.” Though the song was upbeat and cheerful, something about the sound of the notes being torn away on wind gave John the creeps, especially when the,”La, La, La,” part of the song rang out. Then John heard a violin playing the theme from, “Romeo and Juliet,” by Nino and the sound was so sweet that it could only be Sherlock playing-his Sherlock.

“Sherlock, is that you?” John called out, as the music played on. There was no answer and then the violinist started playing, “Oh Mio Babbino Caro.”  “This must be some attempt at seduction by Sherlock. “John thought and then sighed, “Well, it’s working.” He thought in content as the notes washed over him. Then the violin music faded away. John had wheeled himself into a corner, thinking that perhaps the whole thing had been a ruse brought about by Sherlock and he smiled fondly, “Sherlock, what a nut.” He thought. Then another song played over the waves of the rising storm. “The House of the Rising Sun,” sung by the Animals.

And as the music began to crescendo to its apex, John saw a figure making its way through the shadows towards him. John had positioned his wheelchair firmly against the wall of the bar and as the shadowy figure came closer, John could tell it was not Sherlock, but neither was it Elsa. There was nowhere for John to wheel to, so he locked the brakes firmly and let his fingers trail over the place where Sherlock had pulled back so hard on the brakes of his chair that the rubber was sliced open. “What do you want?” John asked in a voice much stronger than he felt. Silence, there was nothing said by the figure and John had the surreal impression that he was in some sort of Mummy Grade B horror movie.

That was one of the last thoughts that ran through his mind as something hit him from behind, John screamed for help, but the sound was torn away on the wind. Slowly, like a large vehicle tipping on the road, John fell sideways on to the wet, slippery deck. He was still conscious when his head hit the wooden planks of the ship and John thought it strange that the water made the deck seem as if it were painted black. John’s body went numb as his attacker drug him face down on the deck to the edge of the railing and then right before they reached their destination, his attacker’s goal, John’s death, his would be killer began to slam John’s head on the deck over and over until John lost consciousness. The last thing he remembered was the dark water, that matched the dark blood that flowed into his eyes and the last thought he had was of Sherlock-Sherlock’s beautiful sea-green eyes, the color of his eyes life for John, the color of the sea death for John.

“John, can you hear me?” A frantic voice called into John’s pain filled foggy mind.

“John, please dear God, answer me.” Sherlock cried out his cover forgotten as he cradled John in his arms on a bed in sick-bay.

“Excuse me, Sir, you’ve got to let us work on him,” a clipped voice commanded.

“Sounds like a real bastard, must be a Doctor,” John thought as he lost consciousness again.

 

 


	23. "I'm Coming for You."

John opened his eyes to find Sherlock peering at him, his scientific gaze soon morphed into that of a lover as John’s gaze registered his presence. “John, how are you?” Sherlock asked shakily as he stroked John’s wrist.  
John knew how upset Sherlock must be to show his vulnerability, so John said jauntily, ignoring the throbbing in his temples, “Fine, just a scuffle that’s all.”  
Sherlock was as unpredictable as the wind and John was taken aback when Sherlock, hopped in bed beside him, carefully avoiding the tubes of his IV and began to kiss John rather ardently on the lips. Every beep and blip on John’s hospital bed monitor careened wildly out of control, as Sherlock’s kiss deepened.   
“What’s going on here?” The ship’s Doctor asked sharply.  
Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled himself away from John’s embrace, not minding when a long string of saliva that connected then lengthened and then snapped away leaving a bead of moisture on John’s lower lip.  
When the Doctor noticed that it was Sherlock, he just nodded and said, “Okay, hold on Mister Holmes, the patient has to rest.”   
Sherlock slid off the bed, willing the aching need in his body to subside as he faced the Doctor, “The patient’s name is Doctor John Watson, and I think I know what’s best for him.”  
The Doctor sighed, for he could see that Sherlock was looking for a fight, “Mister Holmes, you can check him out of sick-bay in a few hours, just let me make sure that there are no ill effects from his concussion.”  
The Doctor turned around to say something else to Sherlock, but he was already gone, rushing across the ship to get their room ready for John.  
“Sherlock, quit, fussing I’m fine,” John said as Sherlock rearranged his pillows again.  
Sherlock stopped, stood up and just stared at John; his eyes dilated making them appear black.   
“Oh, I know that look, come here,” John said as he patted the bed next to him.  
Sherlock shook his head, “You might not be well enough to…Well, you know.”  
John sighed and said gently, “The Doctor said I could resume my full routine of activities. So, what do you think that means?”  
Sherlock nodded looking down, “I don’t have control right now, John.”  
John looked underneath Sherlock’s lowered face and said, “Sherlock, we’ve talked about his before. I want this as much as you, so you are not forcing yourself on me. So, let’s practice some of the exercises I taught you. Take your shirt off slowly, count to five in between each button you undo, now breath in and out slowly.” John’s soft voice coaxed.  
By the time Sherlock, joined John in bed he was somewhat calm, only losing his composure when his cold hands touched the warm skin on John’s stomach. Once again Sherlock’s face turned red as his breathing became ragged and uneven.  
“Sherlock, come on stay with me,” John said softly as he moved his hands over Sherlock’s bare back, adjusting Sherlock’s hips for a perfect fit. All fear then left Sherlock’s face as he became immersed in the rocking motions that made him and John one.   
A few hours later, Sherlock drowsily lay in John’s arms as John told Sherlock what had transpired the night before. After he was done with his story, Sherlock tried in vain to be just a scientific data receptacle, but the burn of John’s touch still had his senses tingling, so all he said was, “John, since my cover was blown anyway, I am not leaving your side for a second. I couldn’t bear it if something were to take you from me.”  
John sighed as he wiggled himself in between Sherlock’s knees, “No, fear of that, Sherlock. Now, pleasure me again, Doctor’s orders.”  
“Yes, Doctor,” Sherlock said as he breathed in the smell of John’s sweaty neck.  
Later that night as Sherlock and John slept soundly in each other’s arms, a woman in a dark cloak delivered a small black orchid in a plastic container. Kissing the top of the lid she read the card in satisfaction. It read:  
“To: John Hamish Watson, husband of Sherlock Holmes, I am coming for you, my love.”


	24. Cover Blown

John snugged closer to Sherlock, “Sherlock, I love having you here, but aren’t you going to blow your cover by showing up to work late?”

Sherlock pulled John closer and whispered, “John, my cover was blown when I climbed into your hospital bed with you.”

John laughed and then winced as the vibrations rattled through his head. “Well, Sherlock since you’ve already blown your cover we may as well sleep in.”

Sherlock propped his chin up on his hand, “John Watson, what might we deduce about your last sentence? Sleep in, hmmm, cover blown hmm…Ah, I have it you want me to blow you under the covers and then sleep in.”

John laughed uncontrollably as Sherlock dove under the covers like an errant puppy, rustling the sheets and throwing around the blankets in disarray. John laughed until Sherlock touched his thigh. Then John’s sigh of laughter morphed into a sigh of ecstasy as Sherlock’s lips teased and seduced John into a state of aroused frenzy, thus proving Sherlock’s brilliant powers of deduction to be correct.

Later after things had climaxed out to their logical conclusion, Sherlock watched John as he slept. It was always a fascinating process that Sherlock never tired of.  Sherlock then reached over and fingered the curl of hair behind John’s ear until he felt the egg size lump that John had obtained when his attacker had pummeled his head on the ship’s deck.  Frowning Sherlock withdrew his hand and let the facts immerse his brain. Why did Elsa contact John and why didn’t she meet him at the rendezvous point?  Was she the one who hit him over the head and if not where was she now? And what about Laura, where did she fit into all this?

A small scratching sound at the door made Sherlock stop musing in his mind palace and he sighed in irritation as he got up to see what it was. As soon as Sherlock left the bed John was instantly awake. “Sherlock, what is it?” John asked as Sherlock opened the door. “Uh, Sherlock, you’re naked. Don’t you think you should put something on?” 

Sherlock ignored a shrieking female voice as he bent down and retrieved an object that lay just outside their front door. After he shut the door Sherlock looked over at John and said, “What was that John?”

John chuckled as he shook his head, “Nothing, Sherlock, nothing.” He was about to say something else but stopped when he saw the stricken look on Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock, what is it?” John asked quietly.

Sherlock approached the bed and handed the black orchid in its coffin shaped case to John.  John read the note and frowned. “Who do you think it’s from, Sherlock?”

A knock at the door interrupted anything that Sherlock was going to say and after eyeing John’s disapproving gaze, he hastily grabbed a robe and opened the door.

“What is it?” Sherlock snapped at three men in uniform that stood at the door.

“Sherlock Holmes?” One of the men stated.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes, very good you are a proper genius you are, sir.”

Ignoring Sherlock’s sarcasm, the man pushed his way inside the cabin and towards the bed where he looked down at John. “Sir, are you John Watson-Holmes?”

John looked defensive when he answered, “Yes, who the hell do you think  you are, barging in here like this?”

The man looked at John and said, “I am head of security here on the ship and I am to take you to the brig for questioning in the disappearance of Elsa Strauss. We have a witness that says that you had a struggle with Elsa and then you pushed your chair into her and knocked her overboard. Since, Elsa is not aboard the ship we need to question you.”

John looked over at Sherlock and laughed, “Is this some joke of yours?”

Sherlock’s pale face gave John the answer.

The security officer had begun to lose patience as he looked at John’s horrified expression. “Mr. Watson or should I say Doctor, please get dressed and come with us? We’ll leave for a moment and give you some privacy.”

After he shut the door Sherlock rushed to John’s side, “Come on we’re getting out of here on one of the life rafts that I saw in…”

John shook his head and then attempted to soothe Sherlock with his tone of voice, “Sherlock, I can’t run you know that. Come on help me get dressed. It’s alright I am sure this is just some sort of misunderstanding.”

 

 


	25. Balance

Sherlock paced back and forth as the Ship’s Security officer grilled John like a drill sergeant. “When did you first meet Laura? When did you first meet Elsa? Did you have an affair with one or both of them?”

The last question sent Sherlock over the edge. “Okay, that’s enough. John would never cheat on me.”

John wheeled over and took Sherlock’s hand, “Sherlock calm down, everything is fine. This man’s just doing his job.”

Sherlock took John’s hand in a gentle clasp at the same time he was railing on the security officer. The veins stood out on Sherlock’s neck making it look as if he had steel rods connecting his head to his shoulders. John watched Sherlock’s display of temper in wonder. For Sherlock was holding his hand as if it were a small nest egg, while he yelled at the officer. “How does he control his body like that?” John thought. Then a cloud of depression settled over him as he thought about the loss of control over his own body.

The security officer sighed and then said, “Well, that’s all the questioning for now.”

John smiled and said, “Umm, well if you need to question me further, you know where to find me.”

Sherlock walked forward and said just out of earshot of the security officer said, “What a colossal moron. He makes Anderson look like an Einstein. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you to not leave town.”

John laughed. “Come on let’s go get a drink. I need to relax.”

Sherlock licked his lips with one nervous swipe and said, “Umm, I know of a better way to relax that is umm if you want to.”

John knowing what Sherlock meant decided to tease him a little. After all who wouldn’t get off on the fact that he, John Watson, could turn Sherlock’s knees into jelly? “Umm, Sherlock whatever do you mean?” John asked in wide eyed innocence.

Sherlock shifted on his feet making it seem as if he were trying to keep his balance on the deck of the ship. “Well, I thought we might go back to the cabin and…”

“Sherlock,” John said in mock sternness, “If you want sex please just ask. After all have I ever turned you down?”

John’s comment drew a couple of stares and a snicker, which John totally ignored as he looked up at Sherlock’s flustered face.

Sherlock stared at John and felt wobbly when John didn’t break eye contact. As a group of children rushed by Sherlock, he lost his balance and fell into John’s lap.

Embarrassed Sherlock tried to get up, but John held him down. “Where are you going, handsome?” John said as he stuck his tongue in Sherlock’s ear with a quick flick motion in and then out.

Sherlock’s body was quivering all over by this time. Like taming a wild horse John spoke softly to Sherlock, “Sherlock, we better get back to the room.”

Sherlock looked down his face red from embarrassment. “Umm, I not sure I can get up. I mean walk…”

John wheeled them both to a secluded place near a life boat. He then reached down towards Sherlock’s lap until he found what he wanted.

“Is this for me?” John asked as he began to laugh.

“Stop,” Sherlock hissed. “Someone is going to see us.”

“Come on Sherlock, stand up and face me, Doctor’s orders,” John said in a firm voice.

Looking around Sherlock made sure no one could see them as he stood up and faced John. John looked up at Sherlock with an intense gaze as he worked Sherlock’s pants open. By this time Sherlock’s face was starting to get red and blotchy. “John, it’s okay after all it’s not your fault that I can’t control myself. I don’t think I’m even going to last a minute.”

“Ssssh, Sherlock,” John said as his fingers reached through the opening he had made in Sherlock’s trousers.

Sherlock as usual was right for he only lasted about .58 seconds, but John didn’t care for he loved the smell of Sherlock’s manly fluid on his hands. John gave Sherlock a chance to get himself under control and then they wheeled out into the open like nothing had happened. Sherlock calm and looking bored wheeled John out into the open. John sat in his chair with a dopey smile on his lips as he smelled his hands.

Once they got back to the cabin Sherlock wouldn’t meet John’s eyes as he paced back and forth. “There’s something about this case that’s bothering me John. Something to do with Elsa and Laura, it’s…”

“Sherlock look at me,” John commanded.

“John I’m busy thinking, don’t interrupt,” Sherlock replied in an effort to avoid John’s eyes which remained fixated on him like a hawk.

“Sherlock, please stop pacing and come here,” John said as he wheeled over to where Sherlock was standing. Without a word Sherlock helped John out of his chair and carried him to the bed. “Now what might I deduce from this?” John asked aloud in a perfect imitation of Sherlock.

“John, your talent for mimicry aside, please, please just shut up,” Sherlock said as he covered John’s mouth with his kisses. Usually, Sherlock’s kisses were firm and demanding, but this time they were half lip half tongue, which tickled John’s nostrils as Sherlock licked around the outside of his nose.

“Sssh, Sherlock, let me help you find your equilibrium,” John said as he calmed Sherlock’s fluttering hands. “You have such long fingers. Let me show you how useful they can be,” John said as he guided Sherlock’s shaking hand to its target.

Sherlock made a hissing noise as he inhaled a breath of air through his teeth. When he felt what John wanted him to do Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a combination of a purr and a growl. “Good boy, you learn so fast,” John whispered in Sherlock’s ear. Then all verbal conversation stopped seguing into a bodily primal dance of give and take.

 


	26. The Shell Game

Sherlock paced around the cabin like a caged animal. “Sherlock, stop you are starting to make me sea sick,” John said as he wheeled his chair into Sherlock’s path.

Sherlock was about to snap at John. Then he looked down at John’s smiling face and he became transfixed. Sherlock reached out towards John. John reached up and took Sherlock’s fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips. “John, you undo me. You have since I first set eyes on you.”

“I love you too,” John said as he squeezed Sherlock’s long fingers. “Now, what can I do to help you concentrate?”

Sherlock grinned at John. “I can think of several, but none of them would help me concentrate.”

John put his hands behind his head.  “What is troubling you about Laura and Elsa? What are the similarities between them?”

“John you’re a genius. That’s it,” Sherlock said as he rushed to get his coat.

“What, what is it?” John asked in confusion as Sherlock rushed around the room like a hurricane.

“John, don’t you see Elsa and Laura are one and the same.” Sherlock said as he clapped his hands together.

“But why would she do that? What is she after?” John whispered aloud.

Sherlock stopped just before the door. “You, John, you have been the target the whole time.”

John frowned. “Why would I be a target? I am a cripple. I have no money.”

“John, don’t refer to yourself as a cripple,” Sherlock snapped aloud. “You are the target because someone wants to get to me through you.”

John rubbed his jaw. “Well, that makes sense. A man like you is bound to make enemies.”

All of Sherlock’s attention was focused on John, now. “John, it would destroy me if something were to befall you.”

John’s breath caught in his throat. He felt dizzy whenever Sherlock looked at him like that.

“John, where is our next port of call?” Sherlock asked not breaking his gaze as it bored into John’s eyes.

John thought for a moment. Then he smiled. “Umm, you’re not going to believe it.”

“John, don’t toy with me. Where are we headed?” Sherlock asked in a low voice.

John raised an eyebrow. “Casablanca, that’s our next port of call.”

“Casablanca, of course I should I have thought of it sooner,” Sherlock whispered.

“Thought of what?” John asked. He was starting to get exhausted just watching Sherlock’s energetic moves.

“Casablanca, John, the game’s afoot. Now get ready for we are going to catch our quarry Come on let’s make haste,” Sherlock said as he bounded over to John.

John smiled up into Sherlock’s bright eyes. “My darling. My dearest Sherlock, what will you do when I am no longer with you?” He thought to himself.

“John, what is it?” Sherlock asked in concern.

John’s eyes filled with tears as he felt for the bottle of pain killers in his pocket. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Though Sherlock knew John was not telling the truth, he didn’t pursue it. He let the nagging doubt slide, so that he could concentrate on the case at hand.


	27. Play It Again Sherlock

John looked up at Sherlock and laughed. “So, we’re going to explore Casablanca in search of a woman named Elsa. I just find it ironic, don’t you?”

Sherlock looked confused. “John, whatever do you mean?”

“You know ironic as in…” John’s voice trailed as Sherlock interrupted him.

“John, I know what ironic means. In point of fact it is ironic that…” It was Sherlock’s turn to get interrupted by John.

“Sherlock, I’m talking about the movie, ‘Casablanca’ with Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart.” Sherlock looked at John, his expression blank. John continued on. “You know, ‘play it again Sam’.”

Sherlock frowned. “John, I am beginning to think that perhaps that hit on the head did more damage than we initially thought.”

John shook his head and looked up at Sherlock. “Are you telling me that you have never heard of the movie, ‘Casablanca’?”

Sherlock lowered his face and rested his forehead on John’s. “No.”

John flushed as Sherlock’s scent filled his nostrils. “Well, I can see that I am going to have to educate you on the classics.”

Sherlock ignored the chaos of the passengers disembarking around them as he whispered. “Yes, Doctor.”

John’s eyes grew wide as Sherlock stood up and winked at him. Then he proceeded to push John down the gangplank. Though he was perfectly secure in the chair, Sherlock still laid a protective hand on John’s shoulder. John reached up and squeezed Sherlock’s hand. For a moment their fingers intertwined, encompassing them in their own moment. Then someone said, ‘excuse me’, and their moment faded away, swallowed up by the jostling bodies around them.

Sherlock bit on his lower lip as he maneuvered John’s wheelchair through the crowd. He watched as most of the passengers headed towards the touristy section. “Which way should we go Sherlock?” John asked.

Sherlock looked towards a darkened street. “That way,” he said as he turned John’s chair around.

John grimaced. “Of course it is. We can’t take the well-lit path. We have to take the dark sinister street. Well, here’s looking at you, kid.”

Sherlock frowned again. “John, stop babbling, you’re wreaking havoc with my concentration.”

“Oh really?” John said as he reached back and grabbed Sherlock’s belt.

Sherlock stumbled forward. He then whispered into John’s ear. “Stop it, or do you want me to jerk you off right here in the street?”

John was giggling by this time. “Yes, please.” As Sherlock ran his hands down John’s shirt, John stopped laughing. “Jesus, Sherlock we’re going to get arrested, stop.”

Sherlock straightened up and then sighed. “I’m disappointed in you John. I thought you were more adventurous.”

John looked up at Sherlock with a wicked glint in his eye. “Just wait until tonight. When you walk into my gin joint you are going to be screaming for me to play it again.”

Sherlock stared down at John wide eyed. “Okay, let’s find a place now.”

John laughed. “Sherlock, for someone who can act like a stick in the mud you are most spontaneous about things like this. Get a grip.”

Sherlock fake pouted and then whispered in John’s ear. “Fine, we’ll go and get some mint tea and as for me getting a grip, I’m going to grip you so hard tonight that you will lose conciseness.”  

John looked up at Sherlock to see if he were joking. He wasn’t. John smiled as the sun beat down upon them. He then leaned back, resting his head on Sherlock’s arm. Sherlock hesitated and then stroked John’s hair. John shivered from the touch and from the lengthening cool shadows that were starting to advance on the sun’s rays.

 

 


	28. Deserving Sherlock

John looked around him and Sherlock’s hotel room. It was a mess. John’s boxers hung from a curtain rod. His shirt and pants lay in opposite directions along with his socks and shoes. 

“Good morning, husband,” Sherlock said as he rolled over and took John in his arms.

John smiled as he thought of Sherlock’s desperation to find a room the previous night. After making several inquiries in the local dialect, Sherlock finally found them a place to stay. John had looked at the outside of the hotel with misgivings. “Sherlock, this place doesn’t look very sanitary or safe.”

Sherlock frowned at John. “It’s fine, now stop complaining.”

By the time Sherlock wheeled John up to the check in counter his hands were shaking with need. The clerk ambled on until Sherlock grabbed him by the shirt front and thrust a credit card at him as he snapped, “Room key, NOW.”

The clerk’s eyes widened for a moment and then he handed over the key. When they got to the room, John had to open the door. Sherlock’s hands weren’t steady enough, after a few tries and much swearing Sherlock thrust the key into John’s hands. “Here open it.”

John laughed as Sherlock wheeled him into the room and began to undress. “Sherlock, you do realize that you left your credit card with the clerk. He’s probably charging and downloading porn by now. Aren’t you worried about identity theft?”

Sherlock was naked by this time. He fixed his eyes on John knelt down and sucked on John’s lower lip. “No, I’m not worried. I gave him Mycroft’s card.”

John pulled his lip out of Sherlock’s mouth as he said, “You are such a naughty boy, Sherlock.”

A few moments later, John’s garments lay strewn around the room in a type of clothing cyclone. John sighed as he remembered their love making sessions. Sherlock nibbled on John’s ear lobe. “I deduce that you are thinking of last night, am I correct?”

John snuggled closer to Sherlock. “Yes, my beautiful, smart detective.”

            ***

It was mid-morning before John and Sherlock began to focus on the case. Sherlock had managed to get his underwear and socks on, but nothing else. “I think Elsa and Laura are one and the same. I have arranged a meeting with an informant this afternoon. So, I’d better consider getting dressed.”

John was already dressed as he sat in his chair. He grimaced as he shifted his weight. “John, are you alright?” Sherlock asked his eyes round and focused on John.

John chewed the inside of his mouth as he avoided Sherlock’s gaze. “I’m fine.”

Without a word Sherlock walked over to John and rummaged through his jacket pocket. He sucked in a long breath as he held up a near empty bottle. “John, you’re pain meds are almost gone. Didn’t you just refill this?”

John wheeled over and snatched the bottle out of Sherlock’s hand. “I’m fine. I’m the Doctor, remember?”

Sherlock nodded as he pursed his lips. “Just the same, maybe you should wait here.”

John looked around him and shivered. “Leave me alone here in the Bates Motel, I don’t think so.”

Sherlock frowned. “John, I don’t think the name of this place is the Bates Motel.”

John sighed. “The Bates Motel is from the movie, ‘Psycho.’”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side like a puppy as he looked over at John. “John, I have no idea what you’re talking about and just for your information I am a high functioning sociopath not a psychopath.”

John was laughing uncontrollably by this time. “’Psycho’ is a movie by Alfred Hitchcock.”

“Hitchcock? You keep bring up Hitchcock. Could it be that you are thinking of something else?” Sherlock asked as he moved towards John.

John stopped laughing. His pulse started to race as Sherlock stood in front of him. “What time is the meeting, Sherlock?” John asked emphasizing the letter “k”.

Sherlock grinned. ‘We’ve got plenty of time.”

John’s face flushed. “Sherlock, it takes forever to get me dressed again and…” John’s sentence was cut short as Sherlock stuck his tongue in John’s ear. “Let me worry about that,” Sherlock purred as he wheeled John’s chair closer to the bed. Though Sherlock could have picked up John and carried him to the bed, he let John struggle a little. After a few attempts John was level with the bed. Sherlock crawled across the covers and gently pulled John up and out of the chair. Sherlock then kissed John as he whispered. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

John placed his hand on Sherlock’s chest as he talked. For Sherlock’s deep voice made his chest rumble like a purr. “My little pussy-cat,” John said as he stroked the side of Sherlock’s face.

“Meow,” Sherlock said as he began to lick John’s neck. “Is there some milk in here for me?” Sherlock asked in a high pitched voice as he tweaked John’s nipple.

John giggled. “Maybe, there’s only one way to find out.”

John’s giggles segued into moans as Sherlock explored.

 

 


	29. Debt of Death

John was relaxed and groggy after him and Sherlock’s love making session that morning. Sherlock reached an index finger out and played with the hair on the back of John’s neck as he pushed the wheelchair into a dark, hookah pipe smoked filled room. John leaned back into Sherlock’s discrete touch as his detective surveyed the room like a blood hound. Sherlock’s gaze became intent, then his eyes widened slightly as he spotted the piano player in the center of the room. He wheeled John’s chair through the crowded dining area with ease, coming to a stop just short of the piano player’s chair.

John looked up at Sherlock in wonder. “Wow, it’s Hugh Laurie. I didn’t know that you were personally acquainted with him. He’s one of my favorite musicians.”

Sherlock looked down at John with a pout. “John, we don’t travel in the same circles. I know scores of “A List” people that you don’t.”

John smiled as he shook his head. Sherlock was so cute when his jealousy became aroused. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?” John asked in a teasing tone.

Sherlock reached down and put the brake down on John’s wheelchair as he said, “John, this is Hugh. Hugh this is my husband, John.”

Hugh held out his hand for John to shake. John took it and held onto his hand a little longer than necessary. It was fun to watch Sherlock fume. “How nice to meet you Hugh, I’m a great admirer of your work. I just love your new CD,” John gushed as he smiled at Hugh.

Sherlock pinched the back of John’s neck as he whispered in his ear. “Stop flirting now.”

John released Hugh’s hand as he stifled a giggle. Hugh appeared not to notice the exchange as he said, “It’s always nice to meet a fan. I’ll autograph a copy of, “Let Them Talk”, and messenger it to your hotel.”

John smiled his most dazzling smile as he said, “Oh, thank you that would be super.”

Sherlock dug a warning finger nail into John’s neck. “Hugh, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Hugh nodded and then sighed. “Well, you both know I’m in debt to Laura, but I’m assuming you don’t know what for.”

Before John could answer Sherlock replied in a clipped tone. “No, but please don’t ramble.”

“Well, it happened in New Orleans during the recording of “Let Them Talk”. After a late night recording session I walked out of the studio to call a cab. I was drunk off my ass and decided to walk back to my hotel. Not very wise of me, but I was drunk.”

Sherlock nodded his head in quick static movements. “Yes, yes you told us that continue on.”

Hugh reached up and took a swallow from his drink and then continued on. “Well, this guy came out of the darkness and pulled a knife on me. We struggled. I managed to get the knife away from him, but as he backed away from me he slipped and hit his head on the curb. I checked his pulse, but he was dead. I was about to call 911, when a black limo pulled up. I had met Laura the previous evening and I was surprised to see her as she emerged from the limo. She offered to make it all go away. Though it was not the wisest choice I was drun..., well incapacitated and true to her word Laura made it all go away. However, now I’m in debt to her and since there are no statutes of limitation on murder, it seems that I am hers.”

John leaned forward in his chair. “Did she want you to seal a necklace?”

Hugh looked up at Sherlock and then at John as the dark circle around his cornea expanded. “She wanted me to kill you, John.”

 

 


	30. Sherlock's Kitten

Sherlock laid a possessive hand on John’s shoulder. “Why would anyone want to harm John?” He asked aloud.

Hugh Laurie looked into John’s wide eyes and then up into Sherlock’s frightened ones. “I honestly don’t know, but one of you has made a powerful enemy. Look all I know is that I can’t bear this pressure any longer. I’m going to turn myself into the authorities.”

The noises of the café seemed to implode on Sherlock’s already frayed senses as he tried to focus on the problem at hand. The clinking of glasses, the low chatter of the anonymous voices that filled the room. “Think, think,” Sherlock whispered aloud as he attempted to organize his chaotic thoughts. Hugh opened his mouth to say something and was silenced by a warning glare from Sherlock. “Stop, just don’t say anything. I need to think.”

Hugh and John remained silent as Sherlock went to his mind palace. John studied the face of the man he loved. The tight skin that was drawn over Sherlock’s cheekbones paled, making him look old and frightened. John reached up and took Sherlock’s cold, clammy hand in his own. Then he began to stroke the inside of Sherlock’s wrist, his fingers trailing over the bluish green veins that lie just below the surface of his skin. Sherlock looked down at John and his pulse raced as he stared into John’s beautiful, blue eyes. For a moment or two Sherlock struggled to control the lust and the desire that heated his cold skin. John, it was always John that turned his legs to jelly, made his heart beat fast and made the place between his thighs ache. Not caring if they were in public or not Sherlock discreetly moved a long finger down the back of John’s trousers, past the waistband, lower, lower, lower still, until he found the promised land. Without a thought about what would happen next, Sherlock pushed his finger in as far as it would go.

John sucked in a mouthful of air and when he spoke his voice squeaked. “Sherlock….Sherlock, what are we going to…ddoo?” The last word came out in a grunt as John pushed back on Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock continued to move his fingers, hiding the movement from Hugh as he spoke. “Don’t confess yet. Go along with Laura as if you are going to kill John. That will give us some time to figure out who is really behind all of this.”

Hugh frowned and then said, “That sounds dangerous.”

Sherlock nodded. “I don’t want John in danger either, but if you don’t go along with your attempt on John’s life then she will just send someone else to complete the task.”

Hugh nodded. “My next set is coming up.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Sherlock said as he removed his hand up to push the chair. He moved his hand in front of John’s nostrils, just long enough for his own musky scent to flood John’s olfactory senses. Then without another word he turned the chair around and wheeled John into the men’s restroom. Once they were in a stall, Sherlock knelt down on the floor and unbuckled John’s trousers.

“Sherlock, this floor is filthy,” John protested as Sherlock’s knees hit the ground.

“Hush,” Sherlock ordered, his eyes fixated on the burgeoning prize between John’s legs. John closed his eyes as Sherlock pushed his knees open and then back. In the background John could hear Hugh singing, “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” in front of him the sounds of Sherlock’s slurping dominated the area in the small stall. Sherlock stopped for a moment, looked up at John, his lips were red and swollen, the area around his mouth glistened with moisture. “John, hold still, you know it’s all about the work for me and God knows I love my work.”

John entwined his fingers in Sherlock’s black curly hair as Sherlock whispered all the things that John loved to hear. “You are my true love, John Hamish Watson-Holmes. I want to devour you with my tongue and mouth.” After a few panting breaths, Sherlock stopped and then looked up at John once more as he whispered, “I will protect you.”

For a moment John wondered how Sherlock could keep such a promise and then everything swirled into a vortex of sight and sound. Hugh’s voice blended into Sherlock’s slurping, until John could no longer tell them apart. Both were music to John’s ears. The tension in John’s body built and then released in a warm liquid torrent, that Sherlock swallowed down in greedy gulps. John rested his legs over the arm rests of his chair as Sherlock focused on licking him clean. “He’s like a mother cat,” John thought as his body relaxed under Sherlock’s ministrations. “Meow,” John mewed.

Sherlock grinned up at John and John’s chest actually hurt as he let himself drift away in the depths of Sherlock’s perfect blue-green eyes. “He is everything to me and he loves me. Then why am I so afraid of losing him?” John thought in anguish.

 

  



	31. Sherlock's Loss of Logic

John lay in Sherlock’s arms content and relaxed. Sherlock smiled as he blew on the small hairs on John’s arm, noting with satisfaction when they stood up on end. John nuzzled into Sherlock’s chest enjoying the game. After a few moments of playing around Sherlock sighed. “We have to be ready tonight. I don’t want any mistakes. There’s a lot at stake,” Sherlock said as he gripped John’s hand in a firm grasp full of tension.

John looked up at Sherlock with sleepy bedroom eyes as he said, “Don’t worry Sherlock. Everything will be fine.”

Sherlock’s lips were pursed in a tight grimace, for John’s crippled state proved that anything could go wrong. “John, perhaps we shouldn’t go through with this.” Sherlock said as he massaged the side of John’s neck.

John ran his fingers across Sherlock’s chest, noting with satisfaction how Sherlock’s skin flexed and hardened under his touch. The world’s greatest detective was a shivering mass of putty in his hands. “Let’s relax,” John whispered in between kisses.

“John, you are a terrible influence on me,” Sherlock said as he wrapped his legs around John’s waist.

A few hours later, they stood in front of the entrance to the bar. Sherlock looked down at John’s face. His expression was relaxed, dopey from the after effects of their afternoon sexual exploits. “I know what you’re thinking, John. You’re very naughty.” Sherlock whispered as he tussled John’s fine hair through his fingers. He then checked John’s bullet proof vest and fake plasma bag to make sure they were both in position. “Into battle we go my Doctor,” Sherlock said with a slight quiver in his voice.

The bar was crowded and Sherlock had to blink several times to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and the bluish cloud of cigarette smoke that encompassed the room. John coughed and Sherlock ran his hand along the back on John’s neck for he knew how much John hated cigarette smoke. John grinned up at Sherlock in response. With any luck this would be over soon.

The fake assignation was to take place in the one of the darkened booths. Hugh would shoot John in the stomach with a silencer. Sherlock would scream for help and Hugh would slip away in the crowd. If per chance someone were to notice Hugh leaving, Sherlock would be his alibi. Sherlock took John’s hand as they were shown to John’s staged booth of death. After placing their order, they both waited for Hugh’s set to end. Sherlock jiggled his leg in nervous anticipation. John placed his hand on Sherlock’s thigh. “Relax, Sherlock, everything is going to be fine.” He whispered then he mouthed the words “I love you.”

The last chords of Hugh’s last song faded away. He stood up thanked the crowd and then disappeared off of the stage. A few moments later a figure in a black hoodie came up to Sherlock and John’s table. Without a word he pulled a gun out of his pocket, fired a couple shots into John’s chest. The plasma bag burst covering Sherlock and the shooter with red spray. The shooter then turned to Sherlock as he whispered, “I’m truly sorry, Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned. “For what?” He thought. Then the unthinkable happened and the shooter fired again. A small red hole appeared in the center of John’s forehead as he slumped forward and hit the table. Sherlock jumped up in disbelief. “No, no, no, John…,” he screamed ignoring the hands that attempted to pry John’s broken body out of his grasp. The rhythm of the room slowed down. Hands were grasping him. Medical personnel took one look at John and black tagged him. Sherlock screamed at them to try and revive his beloved John. Their sympathetic eyes stared back at him like a dead fish’s, unblinking, and devoid of emotion. John was just a body to them. How could they know what he meant to Sherlock? They would take his body to the morgue where a ghoulish Doctor would perform an autopsy. Their fingers would probe and weigh every part of John. Cold hands would weigh each organ on a scale. Cold hands would pierce his skin with a scalpel, revealing John’s anatomy. Their explorations would rip at the flesh of the man he loved. “No, I won’t let them touch him,” Sherlock thought. “I will kill them all if they dare. Yes, I will kill them all.” Sherlock bit his lower lip, not noticing when his teeth pierced the skin. A small trickle of blood ran down his chin, but Sherlock didn’t bother to wipe it away.

Sherlock let himself be led away from the scene in a trance. Scads of photographers waited at the entrance. Like vultures they all clustered around their prey snapping pictures of Sherlock’s blood spattered face and shirt. Sherlock felt numb as he sat in the ambulance, waiting for John’s sheet draped body to join him. But the doors shut. Sherlock’s screams went unheeded as he pounded on the window of the ambulance. The vehicle of death that carried John’s body screamed out of sight.

Sherlock let himself be lead to the morgue. He had been to morgues before, identified bodies, made suppositions, deduced and analyzed. He had never looked on them as flesh and blood until tonight. What would he do when the tray was rolled open? What would he do when John’s lifeless eyes stared back at him? They would be dark blue incapable of reflecting light back. Tears poured down his face as Sherlock clenched and unclenched his fists for control.

He stepped towards the drawers that contained the lifeless corpses of the once living. “Drawers of death,” Sherlock thought as he stepped forward.

Then there was a swooshing sound. Sherlock frowned for it was not the opening of a drawer but that of a door. He turned and there was John in a wheelchair. “Jesus, this stuff is hard to get out of one’s hair,” John said as he scrubbed on his scalp with a towel. He stopped when he saw Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock, everything’s fine. We didn’t tell you about this part of the plan so that you would appear genuinely grief stricken. I must say you outdid yourself. The pounding on the ambulance window and all, nice touch. I mean I pretty much figured that you would come to the conclusion of my supposed death on the ride over. So, when did you figure it out? Was it the color of the blood that gave us away or the color of my skin? Sherlock?”

Sherlock stood rooted to the spot staring at John. Then his eyes rolled up to the top of his head and he crumpled to the ground in a dead faint.

 


	32. Sherlock's Biggest Distraction

Sherlock opened his eyes. A cool hand brushed against his forehead. Even before his eyes focused Sherlock knew it was John.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock reached up and peeled away a piece of synthetic skin from John’s forehead. “How could I have missed this?” Sherlock asked aloud.

John smiled. “Welcome to the human race Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned. “Whatever are you prattling on about, John?”

John traced Sherlock’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You were distracted because your emotions weren’t in check.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Yes, I suppose my love for you has put me at a disadvantage. Well, never mind it won’t happen again.”

John looked down but not before Sherlock observed the hurt in his eyes. “Right, then everything’s back to normal.” John said as he stared at a pattern in the blanket that covered Sherlock. “Hospital blankets are so ugly,” he thought.

Sherlock sat up, put his hand under John’s chin and ever so gently raised his face. “John, I will always be distracted where you are concerned. You are my disadvantage, my weakness, my strength, you are the person that counteracts the injuries I inflict upon myself. You are my life, John Watson, without you I would be nothing but a machine.”

John’s eyes filled with tears. “Sherlock, I don’t know what to say.”

Sherlock caressed John’s hand in his own as he said, “Then allow me to tell you, John Watson that I love you. It would destroy if anything should happen to you.”

John gripped Sherlock’s hand tighter. “Sherlock, don’t say that, for none of us knows what sorts of tragedies will befall us.”

Sherlock disengaged his hand from John’s and began to pace around the room. “Nothing will befall you John, I won’t let it.”

John wheeled his chair over to where Sherlock stood. The squeaking of the wheels put Sherlock’s teeth on edge. “I’ve got to fix that squeak. It’s a distraction…”

John took Sherlock’s hand in his own. “That would be wonderful. You are so clever, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked, for he was putty in John’s hands. “You’re pretty clever yourself, Doctor.”

John nodded and then without a word took Sherlock’s hand again. Neither of them said a word as they enjoyed the warmth from the skin on skin contact.

***

A few hours later Sherlock and John lay together in an outdoor sauna. The palm trees swayed in the desert breeze and John sighed in pleasure as the rays of the sun shone down on his upturned face. “Sherlock, this place is amazing whom did you say it belonged to again?” John asked as he massaged Sherlock’s lower back.

Sherlock grunted and for a moment didn’t answer. “That feels so good, John, don’t stop. Now what were you saying?”

John smiled as he moved his hands a little lower, giving Sherlock some finger action. “I said whom does the house belong to? I mean you know so many people, it’s hard to keep up.”

Sherlock turned around and reached towards a hookah pipe that sat bubbling away. He took one of the octopi- like tentacles of the pipe in his hand, took a drag, and blew smoke rings. “The house belongs to me, well us.”

John coughed as Sherlock exhaled a smoke ring. “When were you going to tell me that you owned a Pascha’s palace?”

Sherlock inhaled another drag. “John, don’t exaggerate. This isn’t a palace. It’s a Moroccan style home, nothing more.”

John laughed and then continued where he left off with his finger motions. “Sherlock, I want you now.”

Sherlock dropped the hookah line he was holding, splashed towards John like a seal and then picked John up. He then carried him upstairs to a Sinbad looking bedroom where he proceeded to make love to his husband in every way possible.

John leaned back against Sherlock as he was fed him pita bread and hummus. “John, you are my dearest one, but alas we must confront the case. While you were sleeping Hugh texted me and Laura has taken the bait. She has set up a meet with him to provide evidence that will expunge his record. The game is on my dear Doctor.”

 


	33. The Fly in the Ointment

Sherlock’s eyes filled with tears as he adjusted John on the Arabian Stallion that pranced beneath them. John’s face was white as he bit his lower lip in an effort to control the pain.

“Sherlock, why don’t I just stay here?” John gasped as he readjusted himself.

“It’s too dangerous to leave you here.” Then Sherlock began to pace as he thought aloud. “But I know you are in pain, so perhaps it would be best. The truth is the truth is…”

John grinned at Sherlock with an impish quirk to his lips. “The truth is that you can’t bear to be separated from me for a moment.”

The edge of Sherlock’s Keffiyeh blew in the wind as he stared down at John. He then blinked and looked away. “You are quite correct, Doctor. Perhaps…”

John brought a finger to his dry lips as he whispered just above the moan of the wind. “I am the fly in the ointment and speaking from the fly’s point of view I cannot bear to be plucked away from my glorious ointment. Give me a pain pill and I shall be quite fine.”

Sherlock reached around his waistband for the round cylinder that held John’s pills. “God, how I hate these,” Sherlock thought as he held out his palm to John. He then watched John’s every movement, the way he reached for his canteen, the way his hand shook as he took a drink, the way his throat pulsed as he swallowed the pill. Sherlock’s face began to flush as he stared at the skin on John’s neck.

John gave Sherlock a sly smile. “Do you have an observation Mr. Holmes?” Sherlock shook his head overwhelmed by the betrayal of his body-his desire for John. “Well, perhaps I might shed some light on the situation. You watch my throat as I swallow and you are reminded of something else are you not?” Sherlock’s face blushed a becoming shade of red. John smiled as he teased Sherlock just a little bit more. “Tonight as we lie underneath the stars I will test my hypothesis.”

Sherlock nodded and then with the grace of a dancer settled himself behind John. He then checked John’s harness that he had fashioned for horseback riding, to make sure John was safety buckled in.

John fingered the silken ropes as he leaned back against Sherlock’s chest. “Sherlock, this is quite a clever contraption. I feel certain that it must have more than one use.”

Sherlock ran his mouth around the outside of John’s ear and then whispered, “Yes, Doctor, you are so clever. It does have more than one use and if you are very good I will show you tonight under the stars.”

John smiled as he fit his head underneath Sherlock’s chin. “Lead on Holmes, lead on.”

They were to meet Hugh and Laura at an oasis of her choosing.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon Sherlock swore. They weren’t making good time. Though he didn’t voice his frustrations aloud John felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, it’s all my fault that we are running behind. You would have made better time alone, not to mention the strain on the horse.” John said as he patted the horse’s warm, sweaty neck.

“The horse is fine and it’s not your fault that we’re running behind. Okay, well maybe it is, but no matter we are still ahead of the meet. We’ll just have to press on,” Sherlock said as he reached for John’s wrist.

Just as he was about to encircle his fingers around his target, John jerked away as he said, “Oh no you don’t I’m the Doctor. I don’t want you taking my pulse. I’m fine.”

Sherlock sighed and then urged the horse on. John was getting too smart for his own good. They were nearing their destination when Sherlock felt John’s body slump against his chest.

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock asked as he slowed the horse.

John smiled up at Sherlock with a glassy eyed expression. “Yes, fine.”

Sherlock frowned but continued on. They had only gone a few paces when Sherlock roused John. “John? John?”

John grimaced at Sherlock as he slurred his words. “What?”

Sherlock reached for another silken chord from his pack and said, “John, I’m going to tie you to the pommel, so that you can sleep.”

John smiled again. “Sure, Sherrrlock.”

Once John was situated Sherlock jumped down from the horse and began to walk through the shifting sands. The moon was full and Sherlock cursed, for though its light streamed across the desert in a beautiful blue translucent hue, it meant they were more visible. Sherlock set his lips into a tight grimace and continued on. He almost shouted for joy when the familiar palms that had guided travelers for centuries came into view.

“John, we’re here. John?” Sherlock asked.

There was no answer for John had lost consciousness some time ago.

 

 


	34. An Accord with the Devil

Hugh reached them first and helped Sherlock with John’s unconscious body. “Sherlock, he doesn’t look so good,” Hugh said as he handed John over to Sherlock.

Sherlock held John against his chest and carried him to the nearest pool of water. With care Sherlock filled his canteen with the cool liquid and drizzled it over John’s feverish skin. “Oh, how touching,” Laura said as she squatted down beside Sherlock. “You know Sherlock I should be angry at you.”

“For what?” Sherlock asked through tightened lips.

“For making me think that poor John had been assassinated by our darling Hugh, but no matter he doesn’t look well does he, Sherlock?” Laura spat the last words out like bullets.

Their plan to take Laura down had failed. As if reading his mind Laura gestured to a group of Bedouins and barked orders to them in their native tongue. When one of them approached Sherlock and attempted to take John from him, Sherlock pulled out a gun. “Stop, Sherlock, let the Bedouin take him to a tent where he can be cared for properly.” Laura ordered.

Sherlock nodded as he handed over his precious cargo. As the warmth from John’s feverish body left his own, Sherlock shivered. He spared one glance over his shoulder towards the Bedouin’s retreating figure and then turned his focus to the matter at hand. Once Laura was convinced that she had Sherlock’s full attention she began to speak. “Now I have a proposition for you dear Sherlock. I will let Hugh go unharmed back to his hum drum life, if you help me find something.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he glanced over to where Hugh sat. “Why should I care what happens to Hugh?”

Laura laughed. “Ahh, Sherlock it’s too bad your proclivities lay elsewhere, we would have made a wonderful team.” She then fixed her bright eyes on Sherlock and continued on. “If you help me find what I seek I in turn will see that John is seen by the best surgeon in the world.”

Sherlock smirked. “I have my own funds.”

Laura smiled with an evil twitch to her lips. “The surgeon I speak of cannot be bought by money.”

Sherlock dreaded the answer but he still asked anyway. “What does this brilliant surgeon take for payment?”

Laura blushed and then placed a cool hand on Sherlock’s arm. “The surgeon I speak of is myself. I’m Doctor Elsa Strasburg. Go ahead Google me. I’m the best.”

“At what?” Sherlock asked in spite.

Laura licked her lips as she slid closer to Sherlock. “At everything.”

Sherlock knew without searching the internet that she spoke the truth. “What do you want from me?” Sherlock asked in a weary tone.

Laura smiled as she said, “I want you to help me find the jewel of Bastet.”

Sherlock smirked, “You’re mad. There’s no such thing. Besides who do you think I am, Indiana Jones?”

Laura laughed. “Oh, Sherlock I just love that caustic wit of yours. So, do we have a deal?”

Sherlock sighed as he looked up at the brilliant stars above them. The beauty of their light seemed to mock him. He then looked over at the faint glow coming from inside the tent where John lay and then back at Laura’s glittering pupils that reflected the illumination of the flames from the camp fire. Sherlock’s heart felt heavy as he whispered, “Yes, we have an accord.”

Laura reached out and grasped his hand like a venomous snake. “Don’t cross me again, Sherlock or John will pay.”


	35. Hope

Sherlock watched in helplessness as Laura examined John and then issued orders. Though he understood the dialect, Sherlock’s head swam in confusion as Laura barked out a list of medical supplies she would need.

A few hours later John, lay back against a flurry of pillows, hooked up to an IV smiling up at Sherlock. “Sherlock, you look terrible. You need to rest.”

Sherlock nodded without a word, curled up in a ball next to John, aligning their spines together and flinching when he felt the snarl of cartilage and bone near John’s tailbone. As John’s breathing deepened so did Sherlock’s, and when sleep came it stripped Sherlock’s consciousness away with a dull, heavy feeling that resonated throughout his entire body.

When Sherlock next awoke it was to the sound of John’s voice whispering in his ear. “Sherlock, I love you.”

Sherlock let the words wash over him and then sat up in a quick snap like a mummy, for John would have never disturbed his sleep. John lay sound asleep beside him. There was no one else in the tent. Sherlock yawned, shook his head, wiped the sleep from his eyes and then propped his head up on his elbow so that he could watch John sleep.

As if sensing Sherlock’s gaze, John rolled over and smiled up at Sherlock. “How are you feeling?”

Sherlock smiled back as he said, “Only a Doctor who is the patient would ask someone else ‘how are you?’.”

John gave Sherlock a sloppy grin as he replied, “Guilty as charged.”

Sherlock’s expression grew serious as he ran his fingers across John’s forehead. “John, you are the most innocent person I know. You could never be guilty of anything.”

John watched Sherlock’s lips as he talked and then placed his index finger on Sherlock’s lower lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that Mister Holmes.”

Parts of Sherlock’s body jumped to attention as a jolt of heat ran through his body. “John….”

Laura clapped her hands together from the doorway of the tent. “Bravo, you boys are so adorable. Sherlock, have you told John of our plans?”

Sherlock glared at Laura in annoyance and then turned back to John with a loving gaze. “John, Laura has enlisted my assistance in one of her endeavors. The search for the Gold Cat Bastet.”

John leaned forward as he said, “The statue that is supposed to be made of gold from the Temple in Jerusalem?”

Laura clapped her hands again. “Bravo, John, then you must know it’s other secret.”

John rubbed the back of his neck and then said, “It’s worth a bloody fortune.”

Laura laughed, “John you are such an adorable creature. Sherlock barely knew what I was talking about.”

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I don’t know everything. I specialize.”

Laura ran her fingers through Sherlock’s curls as she purred. “Of course you do my pet.”

Sherlock jerked away from her and scuttled closer to John.

Laura smiled and looked over at John and Sherlock as she said, “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss my agreement. Oh and should your conversation lead to pleasures of a more carnal nature remember to keep hydrated John.”

After she left John laughed as he pinched the skin on the bridge of his nose. “She really is a piece of work. Now Sherlock whatever would possess you to make a deal with Laura. What did she promise you?”

Sherlock placed a knee on each side of John’s hips, placing kisses along his neck as he whispered, “Hope.”

 


	36. Ball of Fire

John smiled as he looked up at Sherlock. “You look sexy in that desert garb.”

Sherlock came off to the world as an uncaring machine but as he held John in his arms his sensitive nature released itself-freedom. His green eyes bored into John’s in awe at the miracle he held in his arms-John. Without a word Sherlock washed John’s face with a cool cloth, letting his nimble fingers rub the knot of tension out of his neck.

John pulled Sherlock’s face closer to his and place a light kiss on his lips. Eagar as always Sherlock responded and then pulled away. “John, you may have to go home without me.”

John wiggled out of Sherlock’s grasp as he said, “No way.”

Sherlock looked uncomfortable and then continued on. “John, the trip may be arduous. I’m afraid it will be too much for you.”

“Really? That’s not the impression I got,” John said as he enjoyed his moment of knowing something that Sherlock didn’t.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he observed John’s superior attitude. “Fine, spill it, Doctor. What do you know?”

John grinned at Sherlock as he said, “We are going somewhere in a helicopter and as for spilling it come here. We have at least two hours before the chopper and I want you to make love to me, Doctor’s orders.”

Sherlock wanted to ask more questions but the need for John weakened his stoic facade. “Well, only a fool argues with his Doctor.”

John chuckled and then began to gasp as Sherlock’s lips touched his. With one touch, John’s mirth segued into passion. “Sherlock, how do you always know what to do?”

Sherlock laughed as his hands moved deeper into the folds of John’s robe. “It’s elementary, John. I’ve studied you from top to bottom. The way your skin heats us when I do this,” Sherlock whispered as he rubbed John’s earlobe. “Or the way your pulse quickens when I place your body here,” Sherlock said as he moved John’s hips in between his thighs. “Or the way you moan when I place my lips here….,” Sherlock said as he gravitated towards John’s pleasure center.

John’s eyes closed as he dug his fingers into Sherlock’s curly hair. “Yes, Sherlock you know everything.”

Sherlock chuckled as he stopped what he was doing and looked up at John. “Nonsense, no person could possibly know everything. I specialize.”

“Oh god yes,” John breathed, letting his last word of coherence fade into a moan.

Sherlock paused to memorize the way John looked as he lay back. His lips were full, flushed, moist and quivering. His hair congregated in sweaty curls behind his ears, as his chest heaved up and down to control his breathing. His hands as his fingers fisted the sheets, but most of all Sherlock memorized the contorted features of John’s face as he let Sherlock be his guide through every erogenous spot on his body.

A few hours later and John sat strapped in the passenger seat of the chopper. Sherlock sat behind him leaning over his shoulder as they became air bound. Much to Sherlock’s alarm, John held out his arms as if a bird in flight. Sherlock scowled over at Laura’s amused expression and just held John tighter.

“This feels great,” John said as he let himself go.

Still annoyed at Laura, Sherlock released a sarcastic verbal barb at John. “It’s just a chopper ride and it beats walking.” As soon as he said it Sherlock wished he could whisk his careless words back. “John, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that…”

John leaned back against the headrest and rolled his eyes back at Sherlock. “That’s okay, Sherlock.”

But it wasn’t okay and Sherlock felt grim for the rest of their journey. By the time they landed at a Bedouin camp just outside of Petra, Sherlock had allowed his foul mood overtake him. After setting up camp, everyone had dinner and then sat back around the fire.

Laura informed them that a contact would meet them with details of the statue’s last known whereabouts, which Sherlock suspected she already knew. “What’s she up to?” Sherlock said as he scowled in Laura’s direction.

John stuffed his mouth with more flat bread and hummus and then shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Hey, do you think we could go for a nice moonlit ride to Petra?”

Still peeved Sherlock sighed, “John, this isn’t an Indiana Jones movie. The desert is a dangerous place at night.”

John popped an olive into his mouth and then answered in a downcast tone, “Fine, let’s just go to sleep, then.”

Sherlock sighed as he went out to find a guide. If John wanted a moonlit ride to Petra, he was going to get it.

Sherlock led John’s horse down the trail, watching the Bedouin guide as he took them through the desert. Laura followed at a discrete distance, not wanting Sherlock or John out of her reach for long. They had only gone a short distance when a rumbling noise caught Sherlock’s attention. He turned behind him to see the source. It was a huge ball of fire that lit up the desert.”

“What is it?” John asked.

“Someone just blew up our camp”. Sherlock said as he looked over at Laura, noting that she was as shocked as he.

 


	37. A Petra Promise

A slight whizzing sound to his left made Sherlock turn as he drew his knife and took a protective stance in front of John. A voice spoke out with chilling familiarity. “Put the knife down. Don’t you know a rescue when you see one, brother mine?”

Sherlock grimaced as Mycroft’s face came into view. “This could hardly be called a rescue since none of us knew the camp would be attacked.”

Mycroft smiled at Sherlock as if he were a child. “Oh, Sherlock you are so naïve.”

Sherlock whipped around to look at Laura. “Did you know about the destruction of the camp?”

Laura looked at Sherlock with wide eyed innocence. “No, of course not. I had some expensive equipment back there.”

John shifted in the saddle. “Not to mention all the men under your employ at the site.”

Laura shrugged. “They knew the risks when they took on the job.”

John shook his head in disgust as Sherlock laid at hand on his thigh. “John, it’s alright I’m sure that Laura didn’t know of the camp’s destruction.”

Mycroft snorted, “Really Sherlock, don’t be such a child. Use logic. Think it through. Laura knows about a lot of things before they happen. Like accidents, especially car accidents.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he said, “What do you mean, car accidents?”

Mycroft didn’t reply as scores of men in black propelled down the canyon walls like spiders. The men were armed with semi-automatics and Mycroft motioned for the party to proceed forward so that the helicopters could land.

“Wait tell them to hold off,” Sherlock ordered as he held up his hands.

Mycroft nodded to the commander. “What is it, Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked up at John said something to the Bedouin holding the reins and then propelled himself behind John on the horse. He then looked down at Mycroft and said, “I’m keeping a promise. Something you know nothing about, brother mine.”

Mycroft winced at the cutting words and remained silent as John and Sherlock rode off on the horse.

“Sherlock, where are we going?” John asked as Sherlock bounced against his back.

Sherlock grinned when he noticed the shiver that passed through John’s body as Sherlock inched closer. By the time the horse stopped the cool of the desert night had been set aflame by Sherlock’s arousal. Sherlock slipped off the horse, spread his coat on the ground and then held out his arms for John. John slid out of Sherlock’s grasp hitting the sand with a soft thump.

“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked as he smoothed a fine, sliver of John’s hair from his face.

John nodded and then gave Sherlock a puzzled look. “So, um Sherlock, what exactly are we doing?”

Sherlock stared at John with an impure look. “Doctor, I promised you Petra by moonlight and you’re going to get it.”

John licked his lips with just the tip of his tongue. It was a gesture that never failed to undo Sherlock. “So, we’ve left Mycroft and a troop of mercenaries somewhere back there and now we’re going to make love in the desert?”

Sherlock never broke eye contact as he said, “A promise is a promise, John. My technique will be somewhat hurried but I assure you it will have the same results.”

Without another word Sherlock’s deft hands found their intended target in the folds of John’s robe. John’s body trembled as he looked up at the full moon and the stars above them.  “Well, if we’ve got to go, we’ve got to go,” John said as he leaned back against Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed him forward with a gentle motion. “Not yet, John.” John frowned but let Sherlock complete his motions. When they were both bare below the waist Sherlock pulled John back and then smiled as he guided John’s body into his lap.

John gasped and whispered, “Sherlock, Jesus what the hell? Do know everything?”

Sherlock chuckled as his hands encircled John’s waist and then moved downwards. “John, no one person could know everything. I specialize. I took measurements and observed just so that I could see a certain look on your face.”

“What look?” John asked as he twisted his head around to watch the reflection of the moon in Sherlock’s eyes

Sherlock swiveled his hips forward, making John’s head snap back to rest on his shoulder. “That look,” Sherlock said as he looked into John’s glazed eyes.

Sherlock’s hands and body sculpted itself to become one with John’s as they both howled like jackals.

Mycroft stared after Sherlock’s retreating horse in annoyance. “What are you up to, little brother?” He whispered as he led their party forward.

 They had only gone a short way when Laura stopped her horse. “What is that howling noise?”

Mycroft listened for a moment or two and then grimaced. “It sounds like two jackals.”

Laura raised an eyebrow as she said, “They must be mating.”

Mycroft’s cheeks felt tight as he smiled and replied. “Hmm, yes it appears so.” He looked through his infra-red goggles and then let them drop as he said, “Dear god in heaven give me patience.”

Laura looked at him in question but Mycroft didn’t reply as he motioned the party forward.

Sherlock placed his wet cheek on the back of John’s sweat drenched neck as he gasped out. “God how I love you, John.”

John grinned up at Sherlock as he took off the scarf from around his neck and began to wipe John clean, pausing at each place, and kissing John’s lips. Sherlock had just got them both dressed again when Mycroft’s party joined them. Making no explanation whatsoever Sherlock lifted John on to the back of the horse, tied the soiled scarf around his neck, as he smelled every inch of it. Then he winked up at John as he slipped up behind him on the horse.

John leaned back, cupped his mouth and whispered, “Do you think they all know?”

Sherlock chuckled, making his chest rumble. “They’d have to be bloody idiots not to.”

Mycroft gave Sherlock scurrilous look as he said, “The helicopters will be landing soon.”

Sherlock returned an innocent look at Mycroft as he replied, “Right, the game is on to find the statue.”

Mycroft glanced over at Laura and then sighed, “If you had remained with the rest of the party you would have heard that it isn’t the statue that is valuable it is what’s inside.”

Sherlock winked at John as he said, “Yes, I have proven on many occasions that what’s inside is of utmost importance.”

John groaned, “Oh, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and then back at John as he said, “Yes, my point precisely.”

 


	38. The Woman-The Key

Heedless to the other occupants in the helicopter, Sherlock leaned forward and ruffled a curl of damp hair behind John’s ear. Mycroft rolled his eyes as John looked back at Sherlock with sleepy bedroom eyes.

Sherlock was about to push John further when Mycroft grabbed his arm. “Sherlock, stop now. I think your display of passion in the desert was enough don’t you?”

Sherlock smirked. “A night of passion? How would you know about such things?”

Laura chuckled at Sherlock’s acidic remark as she winked at him. Then she leaned over and whispered in his ear so that Mycroft could hear as well. “Sherlock, wouldn’t it be fun to experiment? Just you, me and John.” Then she looked over at Mycroft as she said, “Oh, and of course you too, brother mine.”

Mycroft looked at Laura in disgust and then scrunched his body away from her, pretending to be fascinated with the view outside his small round window. John smiled as he looked out the window at the moon. For a moment he imagined he could fly, that he wasn’t in pain and that he and Sherlock were alone together. His chest grew heavy. “I’m tired,” John thought as he attempted to locate the glowing sands that rushed by beneath them. He fumbled in the folds of his robe. “Where are my pills?” John muttered as beads of sweat began to stand out on his forehead.

Sherlock watched John’s struggle as he sat rigid in his chair. Laura smiled as she patted Sherlock’s leg. “What’s the matter, Darling? Aren’t you enjoying your magic carpet ride?”

Sherlock turned on her like an angry mother bear. “Shut up, Laura,” he whispered between clenched teeth.

Laura made a clucking noise as she wagged a finger at Sherlock. “Careful, sweetie. I’m the only one that can make his pain go away. I ‘m the only one that can make your pain go away…Sherlock.”

A few hours later and they were all settled down in a private jet on its way to London. John lay sleeping in an oversized chair and Sherlock watched in fondness as a string of drool ran down his cheek. “Adorable,” he thought as he smiled.

“Thank god, for private jets,” Laura said as she leaned back and lit up a cigarette.

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, finding amusement at the way his brother struggled between taking a muffin or a handful of fruit. When he saw Sherlock watching him Mycroft scowled and popped a few grapes in his mouth. Looking bored Sherlock stood up walked over to the food platter and moved it around until he spied the muffin that Mycroft had been eyeing. Then with a great amount of flourish he peeled the paper away while Mycroft salivated over the crumbs that fell from his brother’s lips.

Laura clapped her hands together, which made John’s body twitch as he sat up. “What’s happening?” He asked in a sleepy voice.

“God, his sleepy voice is so sexy,” Sherlock thought as he licked his lips.

Before Sherlock lost all concertation, Laura demanded his attention. “Mycroft, it’s time you explain to your little brother and his husband what the real game is.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed an attractive hue of pink at the word ‘husband’. The flush turned a deeper red and traveled to his neck as John’s unwavering gaze explored his husband’s entire body from head to toe.

With reluctance Sherlock dragged his attention from John and focused on Laura and Mycroft. “Well, what is the exact nature of this case?”

Mycroft put his fingers together and rested them just underneath his nose. “The statute of Bastet is thousands of years old but is worth very little, due to the fact that it is an undocumented ornament that would have been used as a decoy piece.”

John looked puzzled. “What do you mean by undocumented?”

Mycroft smiled in a placating way. “Undocumented as it applies in this instance is when a work of antiquity has been taken from a tomb without proper records. For example, many tombs were plundered by treasure hunters heedless of where the items came from, they were ripped from their sepulchers only to reside in an English Manor House, undocumented.”

John nodded as he said, “Okay, I see.”

Mycroft sniffed and then continued on. “The statue was acquired around 1910 and remained in the same family until around 1938. At this time, it was sold to a family from Germany, the item was confiscated by the Nazi’s and did not surface until a few months ago. As I’ve said before it is not the statue that contains value. It’s what’s inside.”

John leaned back his head and groaned. “Oh, for god’s sake what’s in it?”

Mycroft smiled back at John, anxious to tease. “A key.”

John grit his teeth. “What kind of a key?”

When Mycroft didn’t answer, Sherlock got up and sat next to John. He then took John’s hand in his own as he growled. “Answer him, Mycroft.”

“The key is to a Swiss bank account from a prominent Jewish family. There were no survivors in the immediate family. However, there was a distant one. A woman,” Mycroft said and then paused before he continued, “The Woman.”

Sherlock paled as he scooted forward in his chair. He let go of John’s hand as he whispered. “What’s her name.”

Mycroft smiled like the cat who got the canary. He had won this round. “Irene… Irene Alder.”

John looked at Sherlock with questioning eyes. Sherlock didn’t turn to him. He just sat staring at the plush, cream carpet beneath his feet. John shivered, wondering why he suddenly felt cold.

 


	39. Only a Fool Argues with His Doctor

“The woman,” Sherlock whispered as he stared past John and Mycroft.

“Well, who is she?” John asked, trying not to sound like a jealous cat.

Mycroft chuckled at their discomfiture. “Irene Alder is the woman who beat Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s lips trembled as he glared at Mycroft. “The past is the past, brother dear. What does she want?”

Mycroft smiled, his lips drawing into a thin straight line. “She wants you, Sherlock.” He paused a moment for emphasis and then continued on. “She wants you on the case, Sherlock.”

Sherlock avoided John’s concerned glance. He then put his fingers together and took a deep breath. “So, where does Laura fit into all this?”

Laura took a long drag on her cigarette before she answered, “We were once…partners.”

“Partners?” Sherlock asked.

Laura fixed her gaze on Sherlock as she answered, “Yes, in every sense of the word.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, then took another deep breath and nodded. “Ah, I see. So, it’s revenge she’s after?”

Laura smiled. “Sherlock, you are so transparent. Irene and I were never exclusive. Our tastes are too varied. After all, haven’t I told you a million times how scrumptious John is?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake stop this whatever it is.”

Laura chuckled as she made a pouting downward motion with her lips. “Oh, poor little Mycroft, are you feeling ignored?”

Mycroft’s face turned scarlet. “Stop this instant or I will jettison you over the ocean.”

Laura sighed. “Oh, well fine. Irene wanted my help to find this key. We still have an open relationship so I agreed. When things became difficult, Irene suggested that I solicit the great Sherlock Holmes for assistance. Which through a few meticulously timed events is exactly what I did.”

Sherlock leaned forward in his seat. “What exactly do you mean by a few meticulously timed events?”

Laura smiled. “All in good time, my pet. Irene as you know is very persuasive. She needs protection and has decided to buy it at my expense.” Laura looked pensive for a moment or two and then patted Sherlock on the knee. “Don’t you worry my pet. As soon as the key is turned over to Irene my secret will be safe and then I will operate on John. “She then got up and walked across the plane to where John sat. Laura gave Sherlock a pointed look and then kissed John. She devoured his lower lip and then released it with a wet plopping sound.

“Oh, Sherlock are you sure you won’t share? He’s so delicious. I could eat him up in one sitting,” Laura said as she jostled John’s hair.

The muscles tightened in Sherlock’s neck as he got up and grabbed Laura’s arm. “Leave my husband alone.”

Laura giggled as she looked over her shoulder at Mycroft. “Oh, he’s so cute when he’s protecting his mate. Isn’t he big brother?”

Mycroft took in a deep breath as he ignored Laura and Sherlock’s hateful looks at one another. He then got up making his way over to the cockpit of the plane. “There’s an extra bonus in this for you if you make to London as quickly as possible. Break every FAA rule if you have to, just get us there,” Mycroft snapped out loud enough for all the occupants of the plane to hear.

John fought to remain awake but soon gave up as the slight hum from the jet’s engines and the opiate from his pain killers lulled him to sleep. He awoke to the light brush of Sherlock’s fingers across his brow.

“John, wake up we’ve landed,” Sherlock whispered as he looked around to make sure the others weren’t looking. Then he smiled at John, bent down low and licked the dollop of drool alongside of his husband’s cheek.

John blushed. “I’m starting to drool like an old poodle.”

Sherlock had eyes for no one else as he looked into the face of the marvelous human being which sat before him. “John, I love the taste of you. I am fraught with anticipation at the thought of having you to myself back at Baker Street.”

As they disembarked, Sherlock spotted a limo that hovered on the fringes of the private landing strip like an ocean predator. Mycroft went down to meet the black, long sleek vehicle while Sherlock wheeled John over where it sat waiting to whisk its inhabitants into its cavernous interior.

As the limo navigated its way through London traffic, they each made plans as to where they would stay.

“Why don’t we all stay at my flat?” Laura offered.

“Mine is safer so we shall stay there,” Mycroft said as he poured himself a scotch.

Sherlock sighed. “John will be much more comfortable at Baker Street so we shall be staying there.”

A wicked look passed across Mycroft’s features. “Well, I guess we could all bunk in with you and John at Baker Street.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Mycroft. “Baker Street is not set up for guests. Besides it will be much too noisy.”

Mycroft not to be undone picked up Sherlock’s verbal gauntlet. “Oh, really in what way?”

“In every conceivable way,” Sherlock replied as his lips turned up in a victorious smile.

John couldn’t hide a giggle as he looked away from Mycroft out the window. The rest of the drive remained shrouded in silence.

Once John and Sherlock were alone in the flat Sherlock sighed. “Well, alone at last. Shall I draw a bath for you? I’m sure you must be exhausted after our flight.”

John watched Sherlock pace for a moment or two and then said, “No, I’m not really that tired.”

Sherlock paused and peered into John’s eyes. “Liar,” he said as he ran his hand along John’s cheek.

John caught Sherlock’s hand in his own. “There is something else I am craving, even more than rest. In fact, I…”

Mrs. Hudson came breezing into the room and squealed when she set eyes upon Sherlock and John. “Oh, my boys are home would you like some tea and biscuits?”

“Sure, that would be lovely,” John said as he smirked at Sherlock’s outraged expression.

Sherlock could hear Mrs. Hudson clattering around in the kitchen. He followed her and put a gentle restraining hand on her arm. “No, tea, no biscuits,” Sherlock said as he took the empty tea kettle out of her hand.

“But Sherlock, surely John and you are…”

“Mrs. Hudson, get out,” Sherlock hissed. When he noticed the hurt expression on her face Sherlock cursed his own bluntness. “Mrs. Hudson, you are a treasure but John and I want to be alone.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled and patted Sherlock on the arm. “Of course you do sweetie.”

After they were alone, Sherlock became shy and flustered. “Well, let me get the ramp running for the chair and…”

“Sherlock, just carry me upstairs,” John said as he stared at Sherlock beneath hooded lids.

Sherlock swallowed. “But I thought you didn’t like to be carried. That it made you feel…”

“Sherlock, take me to bed,” John ordered, his voice low, his eyes dilated.

Sherlock flushed as he whispered, “Oh course, for only a fool argues with his Doctor.”


	40. Insane Memories

Sherlock held John’s naked body in his arms, inhaling his scent. “Sherlock, that tickles,” John laughed as Sherlock sniffed his neck.

“Perhaps, I should bite you instead,” Sherlock purred in a low voice.

John bared his neck and Sherlock almost fainted when John allowed him to nip a bit of white skin beneath his chin. “Keep it up, Doctor and we shall miss lunch as well as dinner.”

John moved his legs apart, giving Sherlock easy access. “I’m not hungry for that kind of food, but I will be by dinner time.”

Sherlock moved his long fingers beneath John’s pelvic bones. “That is a given dear Doctor. Are you going to scream?”

John laughed and then grunted when Sherlock’s tongue found a sensitive spot. “We’re both going to scream.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as John’s short, stubby fingers found their target. “Surprised? Why Sherlock you see but do not observe. I am a Doctor and I know exactly what to do with my hands.”

Sherlock pressed down into the pressure John’s fingers were applying and sighed. “Yes, you do Doctor Watson.”

***

Mrs. Hudson smiled as she placed a dinner plate in front of John and Sherlock in turn. “Now, I am only cooking you both dinner because of your long journey. So, don’t expect this treatment every evening.”

“No of course not,” John and Sherlock echoed back.

Mrs. Hudson patted them both on the head. “Oh and boys perhaps you should think of sound proofing that room a bit.”

John flushed and Sherlock looked bored. “Whatever for, Mrs. Hudson?”

Mrs. Hudson wrinkled her nose. “Well, the noise and carrying on. It was so loud I couldn’t hear the telly.”

Sherlock took a bite of baked potato and said with his mouth stuffed full. “Turn the volume up next time, or get ear phones.”

Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow. “I did have ear phones on.”

John laughed and with that sound Sherlock’s world was complete.

***

A few hours later and Mycroft, Laura, Sherlock and John were all in a limo speeding towards their destination-Irene Alder.

The limo slowed and Sherlock looked out the window. Fog swirled around the vehicle as it inched its way forward like a ship coming into harbor. Harbor but not safe harbor. As they filed out of the limo Sherlock looked around him. He helped John disembark from one wheeled form of transportation to another-his wheelchair.

“Where the hell is she?” John asked aloud. When no one answered him he continued on. “At least she could do is show up on time. It’s cold and damp.”

Sherlock put a hand on John’s tense shoulder, feeling the muscles relax as his fingers reached  the tense areas. “She’s not late, John. She’s here.”

John squinted and was about to snap back at Sherlock when a woman emerged from the mist. She wore a long black coat similar to Sherlock’s. It appeared to be made of silk and John watched mesmerized as its soft folds ebbed and flowed through the night air currents. Irene moved closer, gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek and kneeled down on eye level with John. She traced his lips with her fingers. “I can see what you mean about him, Laura. He is a delicious tidbit. I prefer the company of women, but I could make an exception in your case. You’re adorable.” She then racked a nail along a sensitive spot on John’s chest. “Oooh, very responsive. You are a lucky boy, Sherlock.”

Mycroft sighed. “Can we just get down to business?”

Irene appeared to pout. “Mycroft you’re such an old fuddy duddy. Laura wouldn’t they all three make such wonderful pets? Sherlock and Mycroft could pull John around in a little cart. We could share them between us.” She stood up and winked at John. “Let’s go inside.”

An old cement building stood in front of them, peeling paint ran down its walls like fossilized tears and John shivered. For it seemed as if the building shimmered in anticipation of their arrival. It’s black carnivorous windows hungry for their presence.

“Sherlock, do you remember this place?” Irene asked.

Mycroft paled as he looked over at Sherlock. “Irene this is not acceptable.”

Irene laughed. “Let’s take a trip down memory lane.”

Mycroft grabbed her arm. “We agreed to meet you but not in there.”

Sherlock materialized beside Mycroft. “It’s fine, Mycroft. All of that was ages ago.”

“All of what?” John asked.

Sherlock looked down at John, his eyes boring into John’s open expression. “I’ve been here before. This place was a mental hospital for children and adolescents. Perhaps, you’ve heard of it. The place was called The Thames Hospital for Children.”

“Jesus,” John whispered, “that place was a hell hole of abuse and sadistic experiments.”

Sherlock leaned his head against John’s and whispered, “Yes, it was.” Then without another word he pushed John’s chair in the direction of evil.

As the wheels from John’s chair rolled over the gravel drive, Sherlock thought that the sound reminded him of the sound of bones being crushed. A soft snap, then shatter, broken-gone. John leaned his head back against Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock smiled as a familiar warmth spread throughout his body.

Once inside the place, Sherlock struggled to remain calm. Breathing exercises are fucking useless when all one can think of is pain and torture.

“Sherlock are you alright?” John asked.

“Just thinking that Depok Chakra is full crap is all,” Sherlock replied playing with the small hairs on John’s neck.

Irene was in her element. Sherlock looked pale and weak. “The place looks a little run down; don’t you think?”

Before anyone could react Mycroft pulled a glock from his jacket and held it to Irene’s temple. “Stop with the mind games, now!”

Irene made a clucking noise with her tongue as she smiled at Mycroft. “So, you do care for your little brother.”

Mycroft fixed his blue eyes on Irene as he whispered through clenched teeth. “I’ve always been there for him and I always will. Now show us what you know about the key or I will splatter your brains against the back of the wall and let brother mine solve the mystery without your assistance.”

Irene pouted as she pulled out her phone. “Spoiled sport.”


	41. Message Received-Angel Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock turned a tear stained face to where his once vibrant friend Daniel lay. His eyes were glazed over revealing his catatonic state and nothing more. If the eyes were the window to the soul his had been drained away until the essence inside bled out becoming an empty vessel.

Sherlock attempted to concentrate on Irene’s words but memories bombarded the present until he no longer saw or observed the others, only the others from his past seemed real now. “I remember,” Sherlock thought. “I remember you all. You were all so brave.” Then his mind shut down and carried him back, back to the day his parents checked him into The Thames Hospital for Children.

Sherlock’s mom hugged him. “Now, Sherlock you won’t be here forever. You need to get better. Mycroft saved you last time but he might not be there next time and your father and I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

Sherlock nodded afraid to speak. He glanced over at Mycroft, expecting to see him gloating. He wasn’t. Mycroft looked pained. His pale face a large white oval. He moved towards Sherlock but was pushed away by a nurse.

“Prolonged good-byes will only jeopardize his treatment program,” she said clasping Sherlock’s arm. “You can see him in 30 days.”

Sherlock spoke for the first time since Mycroft had found him in a state of overdose a week earlier. “No, I won’t be able to stand it. I will be good. I promise.”

Sherlock’s father licked his lips, a sign that he wanted to give into Sherlock’s demands. “Father, please don’t put me in here,” Sherlock wined.

Seeing his reticence, Sherlock’s mother took her husband by the arm. “Come on let’s go. It’s for the best. We love you Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked after them somehow knowing nothing would ever be the same.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked confused for a moment. “I need to go to my mind palace.”

John watched Sherlock stumble towards the door that led outside to freedom. “What’s wrong with him? Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” He demanded.

Irene smiled. “John, I am not as cruel as you would think. For I don’t have the key. Sherlock does. It’s all in his mind palace. You see he was the last person to see it. He just doesn’t remember.”

Mycroft leaned against the wall. “So, that’s why you brought him back to this place.”

Irene smiled. “Yes, that is the main reason. Now while Sherlock is otherwise engaged I will tell you what I know of the key. The key is to a Swiss Bank Account that was opened by my grandfather before he was taken to the camps and killed. He gave the key to a trusted friend-a Doctor. Doctor Dunkle betrayed my grandfather and took the key for himself. He couldn’t use it because of his past record with the Nazi’s. He was a Nazi war criminal and would have been tried and convicted for his part in the extermination of the Jews. The key passed to his son. On his death bed Doctor Dunkle told his son about the key, making him swear to give it back to my family. I don’t need to tell you that he did no such thing. The son followed in the footsteps of his father and became a Doctor here at the Children’s Hospital. When he was arrested for participating in illegal experiments on the patients, the key was nowhere to be found. However, many of the surviving children said that the Doctor wore a key around his neck. He never took it off. However, the police didn’t follow up on the lead, due to the fact that most of the children were unstable and went stark raving mad. Only one didn’t.”

“Sherlock,” John whispered.

“Yes, Sherlock, our darling boy has a secret in his head that must be extracted.” Irene said fingering the leather choker around her neck.

Sherlock sat down in the courtyard, folding his legs into a meditative pose. He closed his eyes, accessing his mind palace. The peeling paint of the walls seemed to regenerate as Sherlock remembered. He gritted his teeth in order to keep the visions within his mind organized, shaking his head when images of needles, maniacal laughter, crying and restraints threatened to overwhelm him. His lips moved slowly in a chant. “I must remember the day the Doctor took Daniel, nothing else just that day.”

Mind Palace File 116-Daniel

When Sherlock next opened his eyes he lay strapped down on a gurney. Doctor Dunkle looked down at him. “Sherlock, you are a fine boy with a fine mind. You are the only patient to come out of solitary unscathed. Unlike your friend Daniel. He was weak and is now paying the price for it.”

Sherlock turned a tear stained face to where his once vibrant friend Daniel lay. His eyes were glazed over revealing his catatonic state and nothing more. If the eyes were the window to the soul his had been drained away until the essence inside bled out becoming an empty vessel.

“Sherlock, focus as I taught you to do. Remember emotion clouds the intellect. You are superior now act like it. Oh, and never fear your friend will be well taken care of. I’ve recommended that he be placed in one of the best sanitariums in the country. He’ll be waited on hand and foot.” Doctor Dunkle said leaning down to peer into Sherlock’s wide green eyes. Smiling he took off his glasses, frowning. “Damn, glasses. I hate when a piece of grit gets on the lens.”

Sherlock watched in fascination as the Doctor cleaned his lenses. “The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment…That’s what emotions are.”

The Doctor put his glasses back on and said, “Bravo, Sherlock very good. See how I have molded you, shaped you, made you.”

In a last act of defiance Sherlock pulled on his restraints and screamed out, “Doctor, you are incorrect. No one made me this way. I made me this way. Do you hear me? I made me this way!”

Doctor Dunkle stared into Sherlock’s eyes and when Sherlock didn’t look away he laughed. “Sherlock, you just don’t get it do you?”

Sherlock could feel panic and anger building up in his chest. He was going to lose it any minute. In order to keep himself in check, Sherlock spewed out the first thing that came to his mind. “Well, at least I’m not dark like you. Don’t think that the word ‘dunkle’ escapes me. It means dark in German. That’s what you are, a dark evil person and evil never triumphs.”

The Doctor laughed again, then his expression sobered. “Sherlock, you are still young yet. Though you may not see it, you are just like me-dark.”

“No,” Sherlock shouted and spit at the Doctor.

The Doctor wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his uniform. “Sherlock, you are a sociopath. That in itself makes you dark. Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t feel things like other people? Why you never cry, except when physically hurt? You are exceptional like me. You will never have close friends, or even a lover. You are incapable of such relationships. You are a genius and genius does not tolerate sentimentality. Oh, Sherlock you will leave them all behind without so much as a thought.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut in order to block out the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The Doctor approached Sherlock after he had filled a syringe. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open, dreading what was coming next. The Doctor’s cold hands upon his arm, the thump of a vein with his index finger, the smell of rubbing alcohol, the prick of the needle, then bliss followed by terrifying nightmares.

Sherlock opened his eyes. The Doctor’s figure blurred in and out of focus. Then the sound of shouting voices reached them. It appeared as if the police were raiding this foul place. “Mycroft must have come through,” Sherlock thought. He looked over at the Doctor in satisfaction, reveling in his terrified expression. Just before he lost consciousness, Sherlock watched as the Doctor took a necklace off from around his neck. He looked both ways placing it in a secret panel inside the wall.

“Very clever,” Sherlock thought closing his eyes.

“Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, can you hear me?” A voice asked shinning a flashlight into Sherlock’s blown pupils. “Where’s this kid’s family? We’re losing him. Fuck. Someone find out what was in that syringe. We have a code blue, code blue…”

“Sherlock, can you hear me? It’s me, John. Sherlock, answer me,” John’s frantic voice called Sherlock into the present.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. “Yes, John all of London can hear you. You know how I am when I go to my mind palace. We must work on your stress reduction techniques.”

John held Sherlock’s hand in a tight grasp, for he could see the terror and sadness that lurked behind those murky green depths. He bent down and whispered in Sherlock’s ear. “I love you.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew moist and he fingered John’s palm. “I am quite well, John and more importantly I remember where the Doctor put the key.”

Irene and Laura clapped their hands together and Mycroft looked smug. Sherlock ignored them watching the sun glint off of John’s golden hair. “You’re wrong Doctor Dunkle,” he thought,” I may be dark but somehow an angel found me.”


	42. Hellish Memories and Salty Love

Sherlock picked his way through the debris that littered the hallway until they reached a dark room at the end of the corridor. He stopped and took a deep breath. Only the crunch of John’s wheels on the broken glass kept Sherlock from running.

“It’s in here,” he whispered and pulled a flashlight from within the folds of his coat. Without a word John wheeled closer and laid a hand on his arm. Sherlock enjoyed the touch for a moment or two, then proceeded forward.

Laura sneezed and Irene wrinkled her nose when the smell of rot and mildew reached their nostrils. “God, what a stench,” Mycroft said pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.

Sherlock smirked when the starched material came into view. “Still getting your hankies ironed I see.”

Mycroft looked back at Sherlock in exasperation.  “Just get on with it, brother mine.”

Sherlock grinned proceeding forward. Piles of rusted out equipment lay scattered around the room and he shivered when passing an abandoned gurney, humming under his breath.

“What’s that song your humming?” John asked, entranced by Sherlock’s seldom heard voice.

Sherlock frowned in irritation. “Who knows?”

“It’s ‘Be Still My Soul’ from Finlandia,” Mycroft answered in a soft voice.

Sherlock shrugged it off. “Whatever you say, brother mine.” He looked around the room, eyes glazed over and his jaw went slack.

“What’s he doing?” Laura asked.

“Oou, this is the exciting part. He’s reconstructing every detail in the room just as it was when he last saw it.” Irene replied in excitement watching Sherlock. John wheeled closer to Sherlock blocking Irene’s view. “Ah, how cute he’s attempting to protect his mate.” She cooed.

“Shut up,” Sherlock snapped shaking his head. “Mycroft, give me a boost so that I can climb up on that metal cabinet over there.”

Mycroft looked in the direction Sherlock pointed out. “Brother mine, the cabinet in question is quite rusted out.”

Sherlock gave Mycroft the look. “I don’t need your input. Just give me a boost.”

They all watched Mycroft when he again pulled out his hankie, placing it over the palms of his hands and lacing his fingers together. Sherlock smiled and his eyes tinted with malice when he ground the souls of his shoes into an unidentifiable pile of muck. Trudging forward he stopped just in front of Mycroft. For a moment they stared at each other, then Sherlock looked away placing his foot into Mycroft’s interlocked hands. Mycroft sighed when Sherlock pushed off his hold, dispersing the once white handkerchief into the foul air. John watched its descent in fascination. It floated through the air, then fell to the ground expelling more mildew.

Sherlock scrambled to the top of the cabinet, testing its strength. Once he felt satisfied that it would hold his weight, he stood up and stretched towards the ceiling.

“Sherlock, be careful.” John called out wheeling his chair back and forth.

Sherlock felt along the ceiling until he found what he was looking for. A secret panel. They all watched in anticipation when he reached inside and held up a key. His victory was short lived though, for the cabinet groaned, creaked, then gave way, unable to sustain his weight. Its usefulness came to an end when Sherlock plummeted through its center.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John called out in a frantic tone.

After a few moments, Sherlock’s muffled reply echoed back at them. “Yes, now get me out of here. The doors are rusted shut.”  He held the key tightly in his hand like a crucifix, willing himself to be calm.

Mycroft worked at the doors, pulling at them until he fell back onto the ground in a heap. “Here, move aside.” Irene ordered, sweeping past him. They all watched in fascination when she pulled out a device that looked like an average ball point pen, turned it on and began to cut away the locks that imprisoned Sherlock with a miniature laser beam. John wheeled closer. When the doors opened he was the first one to reach the cabinet.

Sherlock’s pupils were dilated and his heart beat fast, only calming when he noticed John’s anxious face peering into his own. Without a word he nodded to John, then maneuvered himself to an upright position. With a bored look he said, “Well, here’s the key. What next?”

Irene reached for it, licking her lips. Before she could grab it from Sherlock’s hand, Mycroft stepped in. “I’ll take that.”

Irene turned on him in a rage. “It’s my key from my family.”

Mycroft sighed. “It’s much more than that and you know it. The British government is not interested in the money. The safe deposit box holds secrets.”

Laura stepped forward. “Well, I’d better get what’s coming to me.”

Mycroft smiled. “Oh you will dear, you will.”

Laura sighed and looked over at Irene. “The Holmes boys are so dramatic, aren’t they?”

Irene didn’t look back. She just stared at the key. “We will leave for Switzerland day after tomorrow. If I know my grandfather, there will be another puzzle once we open the safety deposit box.”

Mycroft stepped forward. “We should stay at my house for the night. It will be safer.”

Irene raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you have the security that I do. We’re staying at my flat.”

Sherlock’s head ached and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t banish Daniel’s face from his memory. Irene and Mycroft argued, each attempting to usurp the other’s authority. “Stop, you can stay wherever you want. John and I are going home to Baker Street. Text us with the travel plans.” Then without another word he wheeled John out of the room.

***

Once back at Baker Street, Sherlock lit a fire in the fireplace and settled down in his favorite chair. He still hadn’t uttered a word other than the necessary instructions to the cabbie, letting the familiar dark mood take him in its undertow.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked.

Sherlock glanced over at him noting how pale and worried he looked. “I’m fine. You look exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.” He started to hook up John’s motorized wheelchair device, then John stopped him.

“Sherlock, carry me up. Will you?” John’s voice made the hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck stand on end. “That is if you’re not too tired.”

In an instant Sherlock was across the room. He gathered John in his arms, marched up the stairs, then lay him on the bed. Once he was comfortable, Sherlock lay in between John’s legs staring at his prize. His hands shook, reaching for John’s belt buckle. Though nothing that sprang out at him was a surprise Sherlock gasped when he looked down.

“John, you’re beautiful,” he moaned.

John stroked himself, then looked up at Sherlock. “Then devour me.”

Sherlock’s pupils blew wide open, his mouth watering when he heeded John’s command. He let his tongue swirl in lazy stokes from the moist salty tip to the root, then to the top, sides and underneath, not missing an inch. _God, I’m thorough,_ Sherlock thought swallowing. _God, the noises he makes. His scent, his taste, undo me every time._ He took John deeper into the back of his throat. “Come on, John, come for me. I want to drink your JIZ.”

John would have laughed at Sherlock’s use of the acronym, ‘JIZ’, but he too far gone, his hips pumping so that he could slide further down into his husband’s warm oral cavity.


	43. Just One Fix

Sherlock pressed his fingers against his temples, attempting to suppress the desire for a fix, a desire that he had eluded since his marriage to John, but yesterday had taxed him beyond his limits. The dark mood that pressed itself in on him threatened to strangulate any sane, logical thought processes. _I want to be comfortably numb,_ he mused, _and it would help clarify my thoughts, thus allowing me to concentrate on the case._ This thought squelched any hesitation. His need for a fix was now justified. He looked down at John while he slept. Beautiful. _He is perfect,_ Sherlock thought, then he walked out of the room. Once outside the flat, he took a deep breath. The city was ready, ready to take him in its arms, ready to caress him with its decadent wares.

John woke up with a feeling something was not quite right. He then smiled when he recalled their love making session from last night. His sexy Sherlock had been reduced to a quivering mass of passion. Just the thought of him naked, his pale white skin covered with a sheen of sweat made John sigh.

“Sherlock, where are you? I’ve got something for you.” John called out. “Sherlock?” The door opened while he arranged himself in a seductive position. His eyes widened when he noticed Mycroft standing in the doorway. “Jesus, don’t you ever knock?” he asked, while he covered his torso with a sheet.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “Why John, you’re not happy to see me?”

John’s face flushed and he grabbed a pillow, putting it over his lap. “What do you want?”

Mycroft sat down at the edge of the bed. “Where’s Sherlock?”

Something in his expression kept John from telling him to beat it. “What’s wrong?”

Mycroft stood up and began to pace, his motions slow and agitated like a caged animal. “Last night was a danger night.”

John looked confused. “A danger night?”

Mycroft stopped pacing, then came to stand at the end of the bed. “So, Sherlock didn’t tell you everything about himself.”

John grimaced when he moved into another position. “Mycroft, stop being cryptic and tell me what’s going on.”

A wave of sadness swept over his features. “When Sherlock is distraught, bored or in need of clarity, he uses.”

John folded his arms across his chest. “Are you saying Sherlock is a drug addict?”

“Surly, you’ve noticed the pale scars on his arms?” Mycroft asked in a soft voice. The kindness in it made John anxious.

“Yes, he told me that they came from medical experiments that he had performed on himself in the past.”  John’s voice trailed off, then he whispered, “My god, what are you saying?”

Mycroft held John’s gaze. “I have to find him. I know where some of his bolt holes are.”

John nodded. “Fine, I’m coming with you.”

Mycroft shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

John threw the sheet back and maneuvered himself into his chair, noting with a lump in his throat that Sherlock had taken the time to position it for his ease and comfort. “I’m coming with you. He’s my husband and he may need a Doctor.”

Mycroft maneuvered John’s chair through the dark and the gloom. Its wheels’ ground to a halt just before they reached the entryway of a graffiti covered building. “Are you sure you want to proceed?” Mycroft asked in a soft tone, just loud enough for John to hear.

John swallowed and thought, _I can’t believe my beloved Sherlock is in a place like this._ “Yes, I’m ready. I’ve seen battlefields before.”

Mycroft nodded and they inched forward into what felt like the cavern of hell. Cold stale air assailed their nostrils and John grimaced. A few moments later he wished for the stale air again. He took a few deep breaths to steady his pounding heart and immediately regretted the decision when the smell of urine, unwashed bodies and the sickening smell of burning toxins overcame his olfactory senses.

Mycroft handed him a handkerchief. “Hold this to your nose; it helps.”

John nodded, gagged a few times, then buried his nose in the fresh starched linen. They passed row after row of twitching bodies. _Sherlock please be okay,_ he prayed.

Mycroft shone a flashlight into each pile of rags and the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood on end every time a hollow eyed addict stared back at them. Then the beam shone across a familiar figure. “There,” John whispered, pointing.

Sherlock lay on his side. His hands curled, his delicate long fingers twitching like the others that lay in rows of human denigration and waste. John put his hand over his face. _Dear god, what could ever bring you to this?_ Mycroft bent down and snatched a piece of paper from his hands. He then handed it to John.

“What’s this?” John asked, reading through a list of injectable substances.

Mycroft looked at him with shinning eyes. “It’s what he’s injected.”

John twisted from one side to another. “Get me out of this chair. I need to go to him.” After Mycroft helped him to the ground, John stared at Sherlock’s supine form. He was curled in a half circle, with one hand over his face, like a cat taking a nap. “Sherlock,” he whispered while he took his pulse. “Thank god, its strong.”

Then John took Sherlock in his arms and cradled him, ignoring the pain when a piece of concrete upset his balance, jarring his hip. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up. “Have you come for me?” he whispered.

John nodded. “Yes, always. I’d follow you into the dark, to hell itself and back.”

Sherlock smiled, and when he smiled John basked in its warmth. “John, be careful what you wish for my love.” John traced his dry lips with an index finger. “Ssh, Mycroft and I are here.” Then John looked up at Mycroft. “I think he’s going to be fine, but I want to get him to hospital just in case.”

Mycroft sighed and looked off into the distance. “It would be better for him if we monitor his condition at home.”

John nodded, his mouth dry and his throat constricted. “This isn’t the first time, then?”

Mycroft looked at him as if he were a small child. “No, it isn’t. Although he’s been clean a long time, so I guess we should take comfort in that.”

By the time they reached the flat, Sherlock was lucid and livid. “Mycroft, how could you have taken him there? I just needed a little boost to help clarify things in my mind and now you’ve put my husband at risk. Just look at his knee; its bleeding.”

John smoothed Sherlock’s hair back, running his fingers through its unruly curls. “Sherlock, I’ve had a tetanus shot, so I’m fine.”

Sherlock lost his angry focus when he looked into John’s eyes. They were so blue. Words deserted him and he allowed himself to get lost in their depths. He licked his lips, cursing himself when desire mixed with the solution in his veins exploded into a red hot passion that took his breath away. His hips twitched forward and he bit on his lower lip to keep a moan from escaping. “Mycroft, John and I will sort this out. Please leave.”

Mycroft watched his little brother go from a furious state to a fixated one in the space of a few seconds. John. He wanted him, craved him, loved him. He turned away, hoping that John’s love could protect his beloved younger sibling. “Fine, just be ready to leave bright and early tomorrow.” He waited for a retort. When none came he turned around to see Sherlock taking John’s hands in his own. He was down on his knees speaking in low tones, his fingers rubbing John’s arms, while his head bowed in grief. Mycroft swallowed, sad that John was learning the truth about Sherlock and sad for himself that he would never have the privilege of someone to weep over him. _Alone is what protects me,_ he thought as he shut the door, wondering why he felt more vulnerable than ever.


	44. Topside

John looked at the strange apparatus that Sherlock laid on the bed. His eyes sparkled like a cat that has laid its catch in front of its beloved person. John frowned, while he wheeled around the bed. “I give up. What is it?”

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped, disappointed that John couldn’t peer into the nuances of his convoluted mind.   “It’s a machine, so that you can be on top if you want to.”

John smiled a slow, seductive smile, when Sherlock blushed. “You know you are so cute when you blush like that.”

Sherlock huffed, then began to fold up his creation. John edged closer, placing his hand on Sherlock’s wrist. “Hold on there. I didn’t say I wouldn’t try it. Explain, how does it work?”

“Well,” Sherlock began, “you sit back in this part like a chair.”

John grinned, losing focus on the meaning of Sherlock’s spoken instructions. _My husband is so hot. He made a sex chair for me._

Sherlock’s heart rate shot up, when he finally had John strapped in. Topped. _I am going to be topped by my sexy, Doctor. I can’t wait until the surgery, until he is whole once again. What if it’s a sham? What if there is no surgery to help my beloved? What if my poor John can’t be fixed? How will he deal with lifelong pain and the complications that come with it? How will I deal with his lifelong agony? How will I be able to remain sober? No, stop it. I am not an addict. I just use to alleviate boredom and elevate my thinking processes. That’s all the seven percent solution is, isn’t it? Isn’t it?_

Sherlock’s tortured thoughts dwindled away, when John reached down and pinched his thigh. “Hey, this whole thing would be better if you would participate as well.” Then he smiled and Sherlock was once again lost in the depths of his loving expression.

_How can you love me?_ Then all thought drifted from the genius detective’s mind, when his lover entered his physical and mental mind palace, taking them both by storm. _God, it works. My machine works. My…calculations were correct…_

_I forgot how great it was to top,_ John thought when he released the lever that would lower his twisted spine to a place where he could penetrate Sherlock. _I’m gonna make_ _him scream. Mine. He’s mine, whole or not._ “John…let your body fall. Let gravity and the machine take it. All the way in…”

“Sherlock, stop talking.”

Sherlock reached up, gripping John’s arms, until they were both entwined. _In me. I need you in me now._ His eyes teared up and all he could utter was, “John…please.”

John’s body shuddered in pleasure, when he lowered himself into Sherlock, his insides, engulfing them both in warm moist flesh. _Tight. He’s so tight._ Then the visceral aspect of passion overtook them both, the chair rocking back and forth while John’s body thrust itself forward, reveling in the fact that it was no longer confined.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he gripped John’s forearms tighter when he felt a brush against his prostrate. _Accidental?_ Then as if reading his mind, John pummeled his target again and again until they both moaning, Sherlock’s extensive vocabulary silenced, replaced with guttural grunts and whimpers.

***

Mycroft watched Sherlock while he slept on one of the Learjet’s recliners. He hadn’t seen his little brother rest so soundly in years. His hawk like features relaxed into a mask of softness, while his chest cavity rose and abated from the oxygen that passed through it. John slept in his chair, while his head lolled against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Irene whispered in Mycroft’s ear, running her long nails down the back of his neck. “We must keep them safe. It would be a shame if something happened to one of them. How long do you think Sherlock would last without his Doctor or vice versa?” When Mycroft didn’t answer, Irene continued. “Who would have thought that Sherlock Holmes would have found true love? That’s something that you and I will never know.”

Laura sat watching the scene unfold before her with interest. _Things are going to change once I get my hands on whatever lays in that safe deposit box. Lives will change, perhaps even end. John will surely walk again, but will he accept the price that has been paid for his freedom from that chair? Only time will tell. The real game begins now and the Queen will take the board._ She then smiled, reveling in sensation of the uncertain future before them.

A slight jolt of turbulence shook John awake, his head bumping against Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock opened his eyes, looking down at John in tenderness. The glance between them held, then Sherlock blinked, becoming all business once more. He looked down at his watch. “We should be landing soon. Time for battle.”

Laura smiled, then held up her wine glass. “Cheers, to the upcoming battle. To the victor go the spoils.” 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and his gaze didn’t waver as he locked eyes with Laura. _Indeed, battle is just my game._

***

Once they were settled into their respective hotel rooms, Sherlock ran a warm bath for John to soak in, thinking it ironic that he was taking care of someone instead of the other way around. Hearing John splash around in the water brought a smile to his face. John.

“Sherlock, I’m ready to come out now.”

Sherlock then made his way to the bathroom, where John waited for him. John’s hair stuck to his face in wet strips, tempting Sherlock to carry him away to the bed. He sighed. _Focus, there’s work to be done._ He then lifted John out of the tub and into the chair, drying him off with a towel, then rubbing lotion into his skin. John looked up at him while he worked.

“You brought the special lotion from home.”

Sherlock grinned, then blushed. “I know how it soothes your skin.”

“So, with all that’s going on you thought to bring my lotion? I think you’re getting soft.” John teased.

Sherlock kneaded the tense muscles in John’s neck. “Never. When it comes to you, I’m always hard.”

John laughed. “Come on help me get dressed or we’ll never make it to the bank.”

Sherlock sighed. _I wonder what would happen if we just left and never came back. Just the two of us against the rest of the world._ Then he watched as John’s heat flushed face turned white when a spasm racked his body.

“Jesus, I must have stayed in the hot water too long. Sherlock grab my bag and get me a pain pill.”

Sherlock’s hand shook when he opened the bottle and fished out one white pill. _Just one for John? Maybe I should take one too, just to settle my nerves and to clarify my thinking processes._ The internal conflict raged within him, then he sighed, noting the sound the pill made when it clattered against the rest of its counterparts. _Like skeletal bones, rattle, rattle, rattle…_

John took the pill, then swallowed it down, unaware of Sherlock’s struggle.

 


	45. The Turing Cipher

They all huddled around the contents of the safety deposit box and peered at it. Irene reached in first, pulling out something in a leather bag. She sneezed when the material eroded in her hands, then pulled out a black object. “What the hell is this? Another puzzle?”

Laura inspected it with interest. “It’s a rotor cipher.”

Sherlock plucked it from her hands, studying at it, then he looked up. “This is not just any rotor cipher. It is the most valuable cipher in the world.”

“The Turing Cipher,” Mycroft whispered.

Irene looked confused, a frown marring her ice queen features. “But all those codebreaking secrets were revealed in the 1970’s.”

Sherlock took the rotor cipher out of her hands. “Not all of them. This one is special.”

John wheeled forward. “Tell us what’s so special about it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock lost focus when he looked down at his husband. _He looks so hot in his chair. Why do all these people have to be here? It would be glorious to make love to him in a bank vault, surrounded by all these secrets and treasures. We could make each other scream and no one would hear us. Sherlock, stop, focus, before your arousal becomes visible._ Sherlock cleared his throat, coming around John’s chair, so that his pelvis was hidden from view. “Alan Turing created a cipher that couldn’t be broken, realizing its potential it was rumored that the British Government destroyed it.”

“So, what’s it doing here and how did Irene’s grandfather get it?” John asked.

Sherlock frowned. “I’m afraid that’s something that we’ll never know.”

Mycroft took the opportunity to grab the cipher out of Sherlock’s hands. “Give that to me. It belongs to the British Government.”

“Not so fast,” Irene said, pointing a gun at Sherlock’s head.

Mycroft smirked. “You wouldn’t.”

“No, she wouldn’t, but I would,” Laura said holding a gun to John’s head.

Sherlock paled. “Mycroft, give it to her.” Mycroft paused, just as Sherlock wiggled away from Irene. He grabbed the cipher, then handed it to Laura. “You have what you want. Now please back away from John.”

Laura smiled, pulled the gun away, then tucked the cipher away in her jacket. “Thank you, Sherlock. We’ll be in touch.”

John was the first to speak after she left. “What did she mean by that?”

Sherlock swallowed. _The bill’s come due._ “How should I know?”

Mycroft rounded on Sherlock, preparing to give him the verbal thrashing of a lifetime, then stopped when he noticed his brother smiling down at John in adoration. “Sherlock, what have you done?”

Sherlock placed a kiss on John’s head and Mycroft marveled at his brother’s ability to show public affection, something he would have never thought possible. He then turned to face them. “I’ve saved the man I love, that’s what I’ve done.”

Mycroft sighed. “You could do no less brother mine. God help us all.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Drama Queen.”

“What about me?” Irene seethed.

“What about you?” Sherlock quipped back.

“That cipher was mine.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Then go after it. It’s no matter to me.”

“I’ll kill her,” Irene raged.

Sherlock grabbed her by the arm and shook her. “You will no such thing, at least not yet.”

Mycroft watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. _What are you up to, brother mine?_

_***_

Once they were back at the hotel, John observed Sherlock while he paced. _What’s wrong now? What are you hiding from me?_ “Sherlock, what was all that about back there?”

Sherlock stopped his frantic procession and gave him an innocent look. “What?”

“You know the cryptic ‘at least not yet.’”

Sherlock shrugged. “Who knows? But there is something I need to discuss with you.”

John’s mouth went dry. _Here it comes._ “What is it, Sherlock? Is everything okay?”

Sherlock frowned. “John, I’ve made an appointment with a surgeon.”

“Sherlock, I thought we went all through this. Elsa was the only one who could help me and she’s a non-existent person.”

“Look, John, let’s not beat around the bush. We both know that Elsa is Laura. Laura has agreed to do your surgery.”

“Would this be the same Laura that put a gun to my head?”

“Yes, but I gave her what she wanted in return for your surgery.”

“That was what I was going to do and you went behind my back and gave a rotor cipher to a psychopath. You’re a hypocrite Sherlock Holmes, that’s what you are.”

Sherlock looked around, then smirked. “No, I’m a sociopath so I don’t care.”

John laughed and when the laughter died on his lips he became lost in the depths of Sherlock’s eyes. _Sherlock, you mean everything to me._

Sherlock watched John watching him and became lost in the blue eyes of his doctor. _John Watson, you mean everything to me. I would let the world destroy itself in order for you to enjoy one pain free day._ ” John come on. It’s time to get you ready for surgery.”

***

Sherlock looked down at John. The gurney washed out the features of his face, only his eyes seemed alive. “Sherlock, everything is going to be alright.”

Sherlock reached down and brought John’s fingers to his lips. “Yes, John I will make sure of it.”

“Listen Sherlock, if something should happen I want you to know…”

“Save the sentimental clap trap, Doctor Watson.” Then he paused. “I love you too, John, more than life itself.”

John attempted to sit up, then lay back down. “Was that an actual bit of gross sentimentally Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. Then a nurse came up. “Mr. Watson, we’re putting you under.”

John leaned back, then just before his eyes closed he mouthed the words, “I love you,” to Sherlock.

Tears streamed down Sherlock’s cheeks. He didn’t bother to brush them away when he moved towards the surgeon, grasping her arm. “If anything happens to him. I will kill you and your entire family. Got it?”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m the best then, isn’t it?”


	46. An Affair to Remember

Sherlock waited, and waited and waited. _The surgery is taking way too long. I wonder if something went wrong. John…_

John opened his eyes. He was lying down. Lights flew past him. _I’m being wheeled out of surgery. Did it go well? Will I be able to walk?_

“Doctor Watson, can you hear me? The surgery went fine.”

John smiled and closed his eyes.

Sherlock was so pent up with nervous energy that all he could do was pace. A crying baby caught his attention and he stopped, glared at it, then resumed his pacing.

“Is there a Sherlock Holmes here?”

Sherlock flew over to the woman’s side, wondering where Laura was. He stood before the woman, then licked his lips. “I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

The woman nodded. “The surgery went very well, Mister Holmes. You can go in and see him now, but he is still a bit groggy. Follow me please.”

Sherlock ground his teeth. _Why is she walking so slow? I’ve seen garden snails move faster. Move woman, move. Okay, so I haven’t seen a garden snail move faster._

When she stopped, Sherlock almost ran into her. “He’s in here, but you can only stay a few minutes.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to berate her, telling her he would leave when he pleased, but then he stopped and much to his surprise said, “Thank you.” _John Watson, you are making me soft, taking off my edge._ Then he entered the room where John lay and smiled. John returned his smile and if someone would have asked him at that very moment what heavenly body the earth revolved around, he would have to answer, John, John Hamish Watson.

Two Weeks Later

Sherlock looked down at John while he wheeled him out of the hospital to the curb, where their cab waited. He helped him out of the wheel chair and into the cab with one swift move, kicking the wheel chair out of the way.

“Sherlock, you just put that wheel chair in the path of an oncoming auto.”

Sherlock leaned over and made sure John was comfortable before he answered. “Who cares? We are finally free of that thing.”

John looked out the window at the chaos the careening wheel chair had caused. “You mean I’m finally free of the thing.”

Sherlock took his hand, commanding attention. “No, John, I mean we.”

Sherlock’s beauty took John’s breath away every time, but never so much as when he showed his emotional side. “Of course, what happens to you happens to me. It’s just the two of us against the world.”

“Okay, it’s just the two of you against the world. Where to?” the cabbie growled.

Sherlock leaned forward, still holding John’s hand and said, “221B Baker Street and make it quick.”

John smiled, then frowned. “What do you think Laura is going to do with the cipher?” he whispered.

Sherlock shrugged. “Who cares? Maybe she’ll sell it to the Russians, or maybe she’ll keep it.”

“Sherlock, how can you take this so lightly?”

Sherlock smirked. “Because I am already on a case.”

“Oh really, you chose a case without me?”

Sherlock’s eyes fixated on John. “No, you are my next case John Watson. Once you are finished with physical therapy we are going to take another cruise and do you know what we’re going to do?”

John flushed. “I’ve got a general idea.”

Sherlock scooted closer, putting his hand in the waistband of John’s trousers. “Oh, yes my dear Doctor, we are going to do plenty of that but we are also going to dance. We will take the dance floor by storm, you and I.”

John nodded. “And umm, you’ll let me lead?”

“Hell, no, I’m the better dancer. It will look much better if I lead.”

“Are you saying I’m a lousy dancer?”

“No, but you’re not as good as I am.”

John laughed, a sound that Sherlock was sure would travel through the universe on an infinite wave. _John, my love, my life, my sun, my affair to remember forever._


End file.
